


The Motorcycle Club

by raiyana



Series: The Reader Inserts [10]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bikers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas Fluff, Daydreaming, Domestic Fluff, Dwalin Is A Softie, Dwalin sings in the shower, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Minor Character Death, School, Smut, Teaching, Thorin is a Softie, Tumblr: ImaginexHobbit, Unplanned Pregnancy, Wakes & Funerals, lots of random tolkien characters inserted as people :o
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2018-12-12 21:17:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11745354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiyana/pseuds/raiyana
Summary: Sometimes, you wondered who had written the script for your life, thinking that you'd been stuck in someone's idea of the old cliche about opposites attract. Other times, you wanted to send them flowers, fall to your knees in gratitude that you had ended uphere, with the man you loved loving you just as fiercely in return. You had moved halfway around the world, leaving behind the life you had known and ended up finding more than love - finding a family.





	1. Strength

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to send prompts for this verse, if there's something you'd like to see, either here or at https://joyfullynervouscreator.tumblr.com/ask

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Life-is-righteous.tumblr.com on tumblr made a mood board for this fic and I'm so pleased :D](https://life-is-righteous.tumblr.com/post/172143785827/moodboard-motorcycle-club-by)

You drew stares, you knew, walking beside your husband. Of course, Dwalin being a proud member of the local – most people called it a biker-gang – motorcycle-club, _The Company_ , drew stares even when he walked alone, with his shaved and tattooed head, his large beard and the dark lines that snaked their way around his knuckles, shaping runes that continued in stark lines up broad forearms, usually revealed by a short-sleeved shirt or rolled-up sleeves. The black motorcycle boots and the dark jeans only added to his menacing presence. The leather vest was another dead give-away, emblazoned with _The Company_ in archaic lettering above the club’s logo, with Dwalin’s tag, _The Warrior_ , in bold white below that.

His broad shoulders and powerful frame drew stares of a different kind, you thought, smugly, possessively pleased that you alone were allowed to touch and enjoy his brawny physique.

The majority of the stares – Dwalin’s dark glare usually had most people hastily averting their eyes – that followed you down the street, however, were due to you.

 

Next to Dwalin, you could only be described as dainty; soft brown locks framing a fair face, dark blue eyes and what one artistically inclined ex-boyfriend had called a rosebud mouth. You stood – in heels – slightly below Dwalin’s jaw – getting him to stop resting his chin on your head to annoy you had been an uphill battle – and to most passersby it probably looked like Dwalin could snap you in half.

You had overheard more than one person speculating as to your importance to the club – surely you must be that Oakenshield’s lady, for him to have assigned the fiercest-looking biker to you? The speculations made you smile, though they made Dwalin frown at times, looking to you for reassurance that you wouldn’t rather have been with Thorin.

He had no need to worry.

Thorin was dear to you, as all the boys were, but he bored you to tears with his long rants – particularly about mayor Thranduil. He was handsome – anyone would admit that – but he was also entirely uninterested in anything approaching romantic relationships, having lost his first love in a terrible house-fire many years ago.

These days, Thorin lived for Dís - his sister - and her small family, the club, and his grandfather's old estate, _Erebor_.

Out there, he ran a very successful mechanics shop, where Dwalin worked too, fixing up old bikes and making car repairs and whatnot. You honestly had no idea what the boys filled their days with, and as long as Dwalin managed to get your small car running like a purring cat, you were happy to leave the technical stuff to him, while you attempted to teach English to a bunch of primary school students.

 _Yes_.

You were the quintessential schoolteacher, who had married the ultimate bad boy.

Sometimes, you wondered who’d written the script for your life, feeling caught up in an ironically amusing cliché.

It did not make you love your husband any less passionately. 

 

Shuddering against a sudden bite of autumn chill, you pulled your green blazer more firmly closed, nodding a quiet smile in the direction of Mrs. Harrow, one of the parents in your newest class, who was staring wildly at the man next to you, while her daughter Michelle was smiling widely. It was Dwalin’s secret super-power, you’d always thought; instantly making any child love him. It always made you smile, seeing your big gruff biker turn into nothing but a large growling teddy-bear, putty in the hands of a child.

“Morning, Mrs. F!” the young girl called, waving enthusiastically. All the children called you Mrs. F, ever since your first year of teaching here – you hadn’t started until after you’d moved here and married Dwalin – when the children felt Fundinul was both odd and long to remember.

“Good morning, Michelle, Mrs. Harrow,” you returned her wave, your other hand warmly ensconced in Dwalin’s large palm. The big brute never felt cold, you thought, with a sting of envy. “This is my husband, Dwalin,” you nodded up at him, while Mrs. Harrow and Michelle were both staring at the tattooed skull and the half-missing ear – the ear had been lost to frostbite, many years ago, when Dwalin went mountain-climbing with Thorin and they got caught in a blizzard – the adult with barely concealed revulsion and the child with deeply fascinated awe.

“Morning,” Dwalin grumbled. Mrs. Harrow didn’t flinch at his tone, but it was a near thing, you thought, a glimmer of amusement lighting your heart. Wrapping your free hand around Dwalin’s forearm, you leaned closer into his side, his big bulk automatically shifting to accommodate you.

You could tell that Mrs. Harrow wanted to brush quickly past you, but, when she tried, Michelle caught the edge of your skirt, tugging in that way that meant she wanted to ask a private question. Bending down, you looked at her expectantly.

“Is Mr. F really strong?” she asked, hiding the not-so-whispered question behind her hand.

“Yes, I think Mr. F is the strongest man I know,” you nodded, winking conspiratorially. Above you, Dwalin’s rumbling chuckles sounded. Kneeling down beside you, uncaring about the state of his jeans on the dirty asphalt pathway, Dwalin smiled at the little girl.

“I could probably lift all three of you ladies at once,” he offered, the amused look in his eyes only growing with the sound of the scandalous squeak from Mrs. Harrow’s direction.

Michelle looked awed. Then her eyes narrowed.

“Do it!” she challenged, smiling brightly. Mrs. Harrow squeaked again when Dwalin perched Michelle on his broad shoulders, uncaring that she was clutching his head for balance. “It’s so tall!” she shrieked.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound becoming a bit breathless when Dwalin picked you up, settling your weight on one arm as you clutched his shoulders, hissing a fervent curse into his ear, which only made him laugh too. You wrapped one leg around his back, letting his hips carry more of your weight.

“Mama now, mama now,” Michelle pleaded, excited. You thought that Mrs. Harrow looked a little petrified, but she rallied at the look on her daughter’s face, stepping up and allowing Dwalin to put his strong arm around her, lifting her into the air.

Michelle crowed happily from her perch.

Mrs. Harrow was blushing redder than a tomato and you could feel Dwalin’s silent laughs rumble through his chest.

Setting Mrs. Harrow back on her feet, a little flustered – having seen Mr. Harrow, you rather doubted anyone had lifted her since the day they were married… if he’d even managed that – Dwalin let you down next, swinging Michelle down from her perch as you tried to fix your skirt.

“That… was… AWESOME!” the girl shouted, running in circles around the three adults. Mrs. Harrow cleared her throat, still blushing brightly.

“Yes, well,” she began, flustered, “say thank you to Mr. F, and then we really have to get back home for lunch, daddy’s waiting.”

“Thank you Mr. F!” Michelle called, turning around to wave at the two of you, you waved back. “Bye Mrs. F!”

“See you in school on Monday,” you called, turning to smile at Dwalin.

“I thought that lady was going to faint,” he guffawed, as the two turned a corner. Finally, you couldn’t contain yourself either, falling against him nearly crying with mirth.

“I love you, Dwalin Fundinul,” you smiled, pulling on his beard to bring him down for a kiss, unsurprised when he picked you up again, deepening the kiss passionately.

“Well, Mrs. F,” his grey eyes sparkled down at you, when your feet once more found solid ground, “How about we go home too, so I can show you just how strong I am?” he winked.

Smacking his chest half-heartedly, you chuckled, your mind already imagining scenarios involving Dwalin’s strong arms, talented mouth and a sturdy wall in your bedroom perfect for the purpose.

You could hardly wait.


	2. School's out

Whoever claimed teaching primary school was easy should be beat over the head with a hyperactive 7-year-old, you thought, staring at the little angels – demons? – who were running amok through the schoolyard. _Recess_. You shuddered, simply thinking the word. Normally, it was a good time, time to get a cuppa, relax for twenty minutes of gossip with Doreen who would brag about little Orlando’s grades in Art School and share all the best titbits from her position as Mister Grey’s secretary. You weren’t quite sure how you’d become friends with the motherly lady, though you thought it had involved one of Balin’s supper parties and a fair amount of red wine… as well as a far too complicated discussion about tea for you to remember next morning. However, it had happened, Doreen was firmly in your corner, always pushing you to try her homemade cookies – which were divine – and one of the few who were not intimidated by your husband. A screech from the direction of the jungle gym jolted you out of your contemplation of Doreen’s delicious baking, sending you running to help with a skinned knee. _Recess_. Of course, you hadn’t expected to avoid guard duty, but you _had_ managed to push the fact that it was your turn for the next three weeks back to the darkest recesses of your brain. Doreen had clucked at you in sympathy when you swung by her brightly lit office this morning, already feeling haggard. At least it was decent weather out, a crisp but warm autumn day with clear blue skies – in fact a perfect day, in your opinion, if not for the necessity of being among human beings who had only recently returned to school and realised that they hadn’t seen their classmates all summer which had to be remedied by shrieking, apparently. The little boy whose jeans were now artistically ripped had stopped crying, his grubby fingers still holding onto your hand while the rest of the children were enjoying the chance to let their outside volumes blast across the court with impunity. Part of you felt relief that at least all the current screaming meant there should be less screaming in class. The rest of you couldn’t wait for October, when this duty would be taken over by the burly PE teacher, Beorn Arcturus, a Scandinavian giant of a man, who gave your Dwalin a run for his money in the brawn department. Somehow Beorn managed to get the children to play – relatively, at least – quietly. You didn’t mind recess guard so much when it was with Beorn or with Bard, the quiet crafts teacher. This month, however, you had been paired with Alfrid-with-an-I, however, which was why Doreen had given you an extra cookie. Mr A. L. S. Pittle – Doreen had shown you his full name once, which made you feel better whenever you had to interact with him – was content to do as little as possible while making himself out to be a grand person. He was annoying, and his lack of attention – he spent more time trying to chat you up than watching the children – made recess guard a double duty job for you.

“Alfrid,” you called, sighing when his attention remained rooted to his phone. The grape- wine claimed Alfrid was in a weird pseudo-sexual relationship with an older male who insisted on being called Master Lake, on the few occasions he had showed up for staff-mixers and such. Mister Grey didn’t like him, but somehow appealing to the district superintendent never resulted in Alfrid being fired. Mr White – an ancient man with amazing charisma and a slightly creepy leer – obviously had some sort of deal with him, but that was none of your concern. “Alfrid!” you called again, wondering if the I in Alfrid had been there at birth or was the contrivance of a numerologist or other such person?

“Yess, Miss Anna?” he replied, giving you an oily smile. You had given up making him understand you were married – happily so – but you still scowled at him.

“Watch the children, I have to take Rudi to the nurse’s office,” you snapped, annoyance rising. Alfrid gave the sniffling boy a dismissive onceover, but he did nod.

 

“Well, that’s a nasty wee scrape, no?” the red-haired nurse – you never actually learned her name, as she preferred to be called Miss Barkmann – said, when she saw the skinned knee.

“Miss Barkmann will get you sorted in no time, Rudi, I promise,” you said, handing the boy a paper handkerchief.

 

* * *

 

Class was out for the day, finding you at the head of a group of first graders to be escorted to what you silently called the afternoon depository, a building a few hundred yards from the school with a large playground and a lot of indoor activities where they could play and do homework. Honestly, the children could have walked on their own, the path wound through a small housing estate called Bree – the school you worked in was named Bree School, and the afternoon club for the younger children was called Bree Club. Someone had clearly used all their imagination there, you thought, sniggering to yourself.

The first thing that broke the routine was a loud rumble. You were intimately familiar with the sound, your heart beating a little faster in your chest.

“What is it Mrs F?” one little girl asked, making you smile, suddenly almost giddy.

“It’s a very large teddy-bear waiting for me,” you confided, winking at her. She wasn’t in your homeroom, and you didn’t know her name, but she seemed to know you – or at least believe you – and skipped happily along the line informing all her friends that they were going to see a roaring teddy-bear! You laughed.

 

Sun gleaming on silver chrome, on polished green metal and glinting off a dark visor. The bright afternoon made Dwalin’s bronze skin even more kissable, the dark leather more appealing. The bikes were surrounded by inquisitive children. Dwalin looked a little perplexed the first time one of them called him ‘Mister Bear’ but his face lit up in a smile when he spotted you.

“Anna,” he said, his deep voice – you’d fallen in love with his deep voice over the internet, long calls and deep conversations – making your name sound like the most precious of jewels.

“Dwalin!” you laughed, when he left the bike to pick you up in a hug. You heard little Aragorn – apparently an inherited name – remark to his brother Elrohir that ‘Mister Bear’ was way cooler than their dad, Doctor Elrond, who ran the medical clinic in town. Dwalin kissed you, bristly beard rubbing against your cheek. “What are you all doing here?” you asked, staring at the group of shiny bikes. The adults who ran the afternoon center had all come out to stand in the doorway, gaping.

“Well,” Dwalin had a tendency to scratch the back of his neck when he was feeling embarrassed. “It being such a fine day – and you said you were on recess with Pittle – we thought we’d come take you out for a spin.

“I’m not really dressed for riding,” you demurred, looking down at the tight pencil skirt and white blouse ensemble you had picked out this morning. It was ‘teachery’ you thought… not ‘my husband is a big bad-ass biker’-y. In the corner of your eye, you saw Glóin – strictly weekend rider, otherwise the owner of a few stores in town – lift one little boy – the son of a cousin of his wife, you thought – onto his bike, to great sighs of envy from the other boys. Thorin sighed.

“Everyone who wants to sit on one of the bikes, form a line,” he barked. Obedience was instant; you wondered just _how_ he did that… and would he teach you? Dwalin rumbled a laugh in his chest, pulling you back to his bike and setting you down in front of him, side-saddle. You glared ineffectually at him.

“Well, this is a new look for you, Mrs F,” Nori, the young intern – who was Doreen’s middle brother and christened _Norbert_ , of all things – called. “Bike-bunny.” You waved at him with a smile, earning a mischievous grin. Doreen’s younger brother was cheeky, but he was brilliant with the children and – aside from some scuffle with the law which Balin had made disappear (Doreen awarded him a lifetime supply of cookies gift card, which Balin claimed was the best payment he’d ever received in his career) – he had a good heart. Aragorn was looking up at you, his shaggy dark curls falling over one eye as he darted glances between you and Dwalin and Óin’s bike where Elladan was currently perched.

“Wanna try it?” you asked, leaning in to whisper in his ear. The boy was almost cripplingly shy around adults and strangers, but the small orphan had found a soft spot in your heart. He nodded, biting his lip. Elrohir had climbed onto Glóin’s bike, roaring with laughter as the red-head steadied him standing on the saddle. Dwalin held out a hand to Aragorn, who seemed frozen to the spot, staring at your massive husband. Finally, he seemed to come to a decision, keeping a firm grip on your hand and reaching for Dwalin’s big fist with the other. You hopped down from your perch, allowing Dwalin to pick up the small boy and set him down in front of him. Aragorn didn’t let go of your hand, but he cautiously explored the many dials before him. You felt almost teary at the large smile on his face. Pulling out your phone, you managed to snap a line-up of the three boys on the bikes and a closeup of Aragorn’s face.

“Alright, kiddies,” the always jovial Bofur – an old friend of Dwalin’s from the army, actually, and a long-term member of _The Company_ – called. “Time to let these gentlemen be on their way, it’s afternoon fruit time!” What followed was your favourite part of this duty, watching Bofur lead all the little ones in a silly dance while chanting all the names of fruit they knew. You felt slightly impressed by the boy who called for boysenberries, giving him a gentle smile. The bikers were humming along, which told you the tune had probably originated during a party and with far less innocent lyrics.

“I’ve got a pair of trousers back at the school,” you murmured in Dwalin’s ear when he set Aragorn back on the ground, giving the small boy a pat on the back that earned him a wide grin. “Wait for me?”

“We’ll swing by and pick you up,” Dwalin promised, letting you go with a lingering kiss.

 

As you walked back to the school as swiftly as your feet would carry you, you sent the two pictures to Doctor Elrond’s personal mobile. He had asked to be informed of the boys’ – especially Aragorn’s – welfare when he had requested a pre-term meeting with you to explain the boy’s situation; his father dead in a warzone and his mother recently lost her battle with cancer. Gilraen had left Aragorn in Elrond’s care, though he wasn’t a relation, which had caused some problems with the local CPS due to his status as a widower father of three already.

 

You had changed into a pair of high-waisted trousers that you knew made Dwalin salivate over your butt. He might love you in skirts, displaying your curves, but he had a weakness for well-tailored trousers on women that you exploited from time to time.

“Well, Miss Anna,” you shuddered at the oily voice wrapping itself around the base of your spine. “where are you off to, looking all dressed up?” Alfrid asked. From Bard, it would have been an innocent question, but somehow Alfrid made it sound sordid.

“My husband is waiting for me outside,” you said, moving to pass him. Alfrid fell into step beside you, crowding into your personal space.

“How was little Moody today?” he asked, making you bristle.

“His name is Rudi,” you hissed, “and Miss Barkmann said he would be fine. It was just a scrape and a small bruise.” Yu had reached the door, but Alfrid’s hand landed on the handle before you could push it open.

“One day,” he said, putting his free hand on your arm. “you will let me ask you out for that drink I’ve been promising you.”

“My _husband_ , Mr Pittle, is waiting outside. I’ve told you more than once that I’ve no interest in going for a drink with you. Now let me pass!” His hand was surprisingly cool and dry – with his personality, you’d half expected it to feel damp or slimy – when you pushed down on the handle of the door.

Escaping into the parking lot, you ran smack into a wall of muscle, instantly recognizing Dwalin’s scent and clinging to him as your heart raced. You didn’t know why Alfrid affected you so, but there was just something… _covetous_ … in his eyes that gave you the creeps. Unfortunately, he never actually did anything to warrant the feeling, even if he seemed to take pleasure in making you supremely uncomfortable.

“Amrâlimê?” Dwalin asked, concerned. You nodded into his chest. Calming your breathing by inhaling his scent, you gave him a watery smile. Dwalin didn’t see it, busy scowling at Alfrid over your shoulder. He kept scowling as he bent, only letting you see his wicked grin as he took your mouth in a kiss that left no doubt as to his claim on you. His hand drifted down your back, wrapping possessively around the small of your back as the other angled your head up for a deep kiss. You vaguely heard hooting, but you didn’t care, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Take me home?” you asked, kissing him again. Dwalin nodded, keeping hold of your hand as he shouldered your backpack, passing your small car and leading you to the gleaming bike. Climbing on, he made it roar loudly as he handed you your helmet, holding the bike steady until you were securely sat behind him, your arms around his middle.

“We ride!” Thorin called, and the procession set off with a loud roar of engines. You looked back to catch Doreen waving at you from her office window, returning the gesture with a smile. In lieu of kissing Dwalin for coming to your rescue, you squeezed his thigh, feeling him relax slightly in front of you. As he drove through the deserted streets – it wasn’t even 3pm, you suddenly realised – you felt yourself relax into him too, enjoying the closeness of being together without words.


	3. Lazy Sunday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is over 2k of smut, and explicit. if that's not your thing, click the skip link at the top and you'll get to the domestic fluff section.

The phone rang. Well, it vibrated on the table early – _very early_ – on Sunday morning. You swatted at Dwalin; the incessant buzzing was coming from _his_ nightstand, ergo it was _his problem_.

“’llo?” Dwalin grumbled. “The fuck, Thorin!” he then growled, trying to keep his voice down. “It’s not even fucking 8 on a bloody _Sunday_ , you blitherin eejit!”  You turned over with a glare, letting him know you were _not_ happy with the interruption of your sleep after the vigorous activities you had indulged in the night before. Dwalin wrapped his big arm around you, pulling your head to rest on his chest so he could run his fingers through your brown hair. “The paper?” Dwalin pinched his nose. “I am in bed with my wife, your phone call woke me up, Anna is glaring death at you through said phone – for which you will be making it up to me later, by the way – so no, _how on earth_ would I know what it says in the bloody paper?!” [I want to skip the sex]

 

 

 

Dwalin’s thick fingers were absentmindedly wrapped around your breast, playing with a surprisingly interested nipple. You pushed your breast a little firmer into his hand, your fingers trailing suggestively down his chest, following the path of hair to his belly button and circling it, scraping lightly with your nail. Dwalin’s fingers tightened, his rubbing taking on more purpose as he listened to whatever Thorin had thought worth interrupting your lie-in – Dwalin was right, his almost-brother was on your shit-list now, you thought, scratching your nail further down the trail of hair below Dwalin’s navel. “What?!” Dwalin exclaimed, loudly, as he jumped at your touch, pinching your nipple in warning. You ignored him, wrapping your hand around his burgeoning erection, as always a little impressed that your body could fit the whole thing when your fingers could barely wrap around the thickness. Stroking slowly, you ran the tip of your nail – they were getting a little long, but you knew what you were doing – up the vein that stood out along the underside. Dwalin hissed at you, but the way his cock jumped made you smirk and do it again, then alternating for a stroking grip. He liked it firm, even if you never held it as tightly as he did himself, preferring to tease and finish him off other ways. Sliding your hand down to the base, you gave him a few rapid strokes. Dwalin cursed under his breath, “No, Thorin, I’m listening, mmhmm,” he tried, but his breathing was speeding up noticeably, you could tell, turning your head to smirk evilly at his flustered face. Dwalin was hairy, the wiry feeling adding to your enjoyment when he was inside you. Removing your hand from his cock once more made Dwalin sigh, a peculiar mix of relief and disappointment that turned into a nearly pained gasp when your teasing fingers wrapped around one of his balls, rolling the smooth testicle in your hand. His cock jumped, smearing a touch of clear fluid across your forearm. Your fingers squeezed lightly, drawing a groan from your husband. You could vaguely hear the tinny sound of Thorin’s voice from the phone as you continued to tease your husband, turning your head to catch the steel bar that pierced his nipple between your teeth. You tugged lightly, agilely using your tongue on the small nub. You didn’t know how he’d ever managed to have both nipples pierced, but perhaps they hadn’t been as sensitive back then, you thought with a hum, returning your hand to stroking his shaft as you traced his pectoral tattoo with your tongue. “Minx!” Dwalin hissed at you, his large palm leaving your breast to seek out the tempting curve of your arse. You spread your legs slightly, offering him a chance to dip his fingers into the crease between them and discover the tell-tale evidence of your own arousal. “No, Galadriel, Thorin,” Dwalin was saying above you, pretending that he was following the thread of Thorin’s conversation. Clearly you weren’t doing enough to distract him you thought, giving him a last kiss and a wicked smile before you began following the trail of hair once more, letting your tongue do the walking, tugging at the small hairs around his belly button with your tongue. Dwalin groaned. One of his fingers pushed into your body, accepted easily and began moving, hitting your sweet spot on every pass. You clenched around him, smirking when you heard the light moan he tried to conceal in his throat. Moving slowly to mouth at Dwalin’s hip, you sealed your mouth over the pulse-point, sucking rhythmically. The phone crashed to the floor. “Fucking, hell, Anna!” Dwalin groaned, his frustration and lust evident in his voice. You glanced up, just in time to see the light on the phone switch: Thorin had hung up. Dwalin’s now-free hand found your head, urging you lower still. With his other, he pulled your leg, smearing your own juices along the crease when your thigh became your arse as he dragged you across the bedding. Pressing a gentle kiss to his head, you ran your tongue down the shaft. “Mahal!” he hissed. “Please, amrâlimê, take me,” he begged. You wiggled your arse at him, taking in just the head, licking across and around like a lollypop. Lifting your lower body, Dwalin resituated your smaller form easily, licking around the rim of your arse in revenge. You growled, pressing against his tongue as his fingers returned to their earlier occupation. Dwalin hummed, because he was a bastard. So you drew him further into your mouth, returning the humming when he hit your throat. In this position, he wasn’t easy to swallow, and when his tongue truly began its coordinated assault you didn’t think you had the wherewithal to try anyway. Instead, you wrapped your hand around the base of him once more, stroking in alternate rhythm with your sucking; a sure way to torment him with the arrhythmic pleasure. Grinning around your mouthful and drooling down his length to ease the passing of your hand, you pushed yourself back against his face. Dwalin sped up his fingers – you almost wondered when he’d added the second one, but the pleasure was too good to stop what you were doing, bobbing your head a little faster. Dwalin’s deep growls and moans against your core were electrifying. His thumb joined the two-pronged assault, pressing firmly against your clit as his free hand smacked your arse lightly. You squealed slightly; spanking was new, and you were surprised how much you liked it, moaning deeply around him. Dwalin – who had never been slow – smiled against your sopping snatch, raising his hand and delivering another crack to your other cheek.

“Dwaliiin,” you moaned, releasing him with a pop. Dwalin chuckled. Rubbing your reddened flesh, he kept lashing at you with his tongue. You returned to your task, doing your best to swallow his girth, leaning most of your weight on his body and you elbow, freeing your hand to play with his sac, rolling and stroking, carefully pinching the way he liked. Dwalin’s muffled moans told you were doing well, as did his speeding strokes into your pliant flesh. The roughness of the pad of his thumb – a diagonal scar bisected his finger, which pressed hard against your clit – made you see stars as he began to move it, circling your nub lightly. Moaning around the length of him, you gave up any resistance as he played your body like it was his prized viol. Scraping your teeth lightly along the vein that always made him groan when you traced it with your nail produced a sound you’d never heard before; a combination growl and whine.

“Fuck!” Dwalin growled, lifting you enough he could talk. You mewled in protest, wanting more of his talented tongue. “Do it again, Anna, please, my sweetling, please,” he babbled mindlessly. You ran your teeth slowly – ever so slowly – up the length of him, while your tongue swished back and forth on the other side of his shaft, worrying the skin at the base of the head lightly before pressing your front teeth against the base of the head while your tongue swirled across and around it, your hand resuming its stroking in time with your tongue. Dwalin groaned deeply, his own rhythm faltering as he bucked his hips up towards you, flooding your mouth with his cum.  You swallowed easily, accepting the reward for your efforts as your husband groaned beneath you. Licking him clean, you released him from your warm mouth, shaking your butt at him.

“Have you died, my love?” you asked teasingly. Dwalin growled and suddenly you found yourself on your back, squealing as his tongue renewed its assault on your body, the soft bristles of his beard tickling your mons and your thighs as he continued mercilessly, finding your clit with his tongue as his fingers – he’d opened you enough to take three now, making you cry out and clench hard around the invading digits – plundered your body. Your own fingers found your breasts, squeezing the globes that Dwalin insisted were perfectly sized and playing with your reddened nipples as you thrashed back and forth under the onslaught of pleasure. “Dwalin, Dwalin, Dwalin,” you moaned, wrapping your legs over his shoulders. You felt his smirk, felt the beard that was now slick with your juices rub against your clit as Dwalin’s tongue dipped into your cunt. He teased you like that a little, before returning that blessed appendage to destroying what was left of your mind as his fingers stroked against your g-spot, making you quiver and buck against his mouth. You had no idea what sound you were making, but Dwalin was growling against you and the vibration of the sound tore you apart. With a shriek that would have hurt his ears if not for the muffling of your thighs locked around his head, you plunged headfirst into an orgasm of pure light. Dwalin kept licking you, his fingers prolonging the pleasure surging through you. His free hand was wrapped around your hip, keeping you in place, though he released you when you began to move away, overwhelmed with pleasure. When you simply mewled, Dwalin moved up your body, licking slowly across your skin and keeping you at the level of pleasure just before it becomes unbearable for as long as he could.

You felt his resurgent erection pressing against your leg, thrusting lightly against your flesh as you slowly came down from the clouds. Dwalin wrapped you in his arms, returning you to the position he had moved you into when the phone-call interrupted your rest. You mewled lightly against his throat, pleasured lassitude overtaking you. Dwalin’s hand came down to wrap possessively around your arse, making you hitch one leg around his waist, brushing against his once-again hard cock.

“Hush, Anna,” he whispered, kissing your forehead. You shook your head, repeating the motion that made your thigh drag against his cock. Dwalin hissed into your hair, tilting your head up. You gave him a sleepy smile and did it again. “Minx!” he accused, but his voice was fond as he kissed you. His beard smelled like you, you noted distantly, enjoying the taste of yourself on his lips as his tongue snaked into your mouth. Sucking his tongue lightly, you heard the rustle as Dwalin extracted a condom from the box in his nightstand, expertly opening the small foil packet and rolling the thin latex onto himself. You kept kissing lazily as he pushed you back against the mattress, pushing home slowly. Hitching your legs around his waist, Dwalin kept up the languid pace of a Sunday morning fuck.

“Dwalin,” you whispered, staring up at the grey eyes above you and tracing the scar in his eyebrow with a gentle finger. Dwalin caught your hand, suckling the tip of your finger into his mouth. With a teasing glint in his eye, he sucked it lightly. You clenched your inner muscles around him, making him groan, speeding up slightly as he released your spit-shiny finger and claimed your mouth again. Trailing the finger down your chest, you traced a circle around your nipple, pressing the tight bud against Dwalin’s chest as you tightened your legs around him, rocking up against him with a light smile. Dwalin’s mouth moved down your throat, letting you close your eyes as you focused on meeting his thrusts. He threw off your rhythm by biting lightly at the soft skin below your ear, making your free hand flex instinctively, pinching the arse cheek you’d been caressing. Dwalin groaned a laugh against your skin, soothing the bit with his tongue. “More,” you told him, tilting your head back. Dwalin growled. Using your foot, you pushed him harder against yourself as his mouth sucked your flesh into kiss-shaped bruises. “more, love,” you begged, feeling another peak coming. He chuckled, but obliged the command, thrusting harder against you. Shifting his weight, he leaned more heavily on you, pressing you deeper into the mattress as his mouth moved down to wrap around your turgid nipple, sucking it into his mouth and lashing at it with his tongue. Hissing, you bowed your back, offering him your chest with a groan. Shifting the angle meant he pressed more firmly against the best spot inside you, making you tighten around him, your muscles milking him on every thrust. You knew from his breathing that Dwalin was just as close, pulling his face back to yours by the beard, claiming his lips in a searing kiss as you clenched around him.

“Come for me, love,” he growled huskily against your mouth, nipping at your lips. As if the words had been a command, your body bowed back against him as you flew apart, shouting your release into his mouth. Your nails raked furrows down his shoulders, one hand leaving five half-moon divots in the cheek of his arse. Dwalin’s hand was firmly squeezing your right breast as he followed you, smothering his own growl of completion against your shoulder. The slight stutter of his hips as he emptied into the latex only added to your own pleasure. Dwalin kept thrusting lazily as you calmed down slowly, resting his head on your chest. You dreamily traced your fingers back up his shoulders, scratching them into his hair as you hummed mindlessly, floating in the after-glow.

 

 [Fluff begins here] .

When you woke, a quick look at the softly playing clock-radio told you it was nearly noon. The local classics station was playing something you vaguely recognised as Brahms and Dwalin was sleeping on his back again, having rolled off you and removed the condom. His palm was still wrapped possessively around your breast.

The sound that had unconsciously woken you came again.

“Dwalin,” you groaned, poking him. Dwalin grumbled something unintelligible. “The door.” Knowing your luck, it’d be Thorin, come to complain about Thranduil’s most recent edict or something else similar, and what you really wanted in that moment was pancakes, not a grumpy pseudo-brother-in-law. Dwalin grumbled something else, when the knocker moved to pound against the curtained bedroom window. Dwalin shot from the bed, tearing through the house in a mindless rampage and you heard him throw the door open, shouting something about peace on Sundays. You laughed, burying your chortles in Dwalin’s pillow.

“Well, I didn’t think you’d still be sleeping!” Thorin sniped, stomping through the kitchen.

“If he’s going to interrupt, have him make pancake batter,” you called, knowing better than to suggest Thorin also cook the pancakes – a disaster in the making – and swung your legs over the side of the bed. Getting up proved to be difficult, but you managed to stagger to the bathroom, blearily looking at your abraded thighs as you sat on the loo. The sting in your abused skin suddenly registered.

“Yes, ma’am,” Thorin called back, and you heard the sound of cupboards opening.

“Dwalin!” you shouted, feeling angry. When he popped his head through the door – he’d found a pair of boxers and a tshirt somewhere, apparently – his eyes widened at the sight of your splayed thighs.

“I’m sorry!” he cringed against the door-jamb. “That looks painful.” You scowled at him.

“I’m going to shower. Find my loosest skirt and go make sure Thorin doesn’t ruin my kitchen,” you hissed, wincing when you tried to get up. Dwalin chuckled, earning himself another glare. He tried to look contrite, but it mostly came off smug as he picked you up, easily carrying you to the shower and turning on the water. You whimpered when you stretched your legs, but he kept you steady until you found your footing.

“Haven’t you got some lotion to take care of it?” he wondered, turning back to the sink to wash his beard as well he could, in order to return before Thorin caused some kitchen-related disaster or another.

“Shea butter,” you murmured, scrubbing your hands through your lathered hair. Dwalin hummed, probably no idea what you meant. “Look for the metal tin that says s-h-e-a butter,” you sighed, promising yourself that you’d get him to start using your conditioner on his facial hair.

“Found it!” Dwalin crowed. You shook your head fondly behind the frosted glass. Thorin had refurbished and installed the bathroom himself as a wedding present for you, after his sister had convinced him that Dwalin’s bachelor pad style house – he’d built it himself, as a project, which was actually the topic that had got you started talking in the first place – wasn’t fit for a woman to live in. many things could be said about the guys in _The Company_ – and many things _were_ – but they all knew how to work with their hands, even Glóin with his financial background and Óin, who was a GP, but who had made the most fantastic garden filled with herbs and medical plants for you. Dwalin had made the kitchen, getting his old mate Bifur to carve all the cabinets with borders of vines and Celtic-looking knotwork designs.

“Thank you, dear, now go save my kitchen from your intrepid leader,” you joked, blowing him a kiss. The warm water was loosening your tense muscles, making you think you’d spent most of those sleepy three hours with your thighs locked around Dwalin’s waist.

 

 

“Why did you call us so early this morning, Thorin?” you asked mildly, bumping Dwalin away from the stove with your hip and taking over the pancake flipping duty. The thin crepes the men preferred had quickly become a specialty of yours, flipping the pancakes mid-air with an experienced twitch of your wrist.

“This!” Thorin exclaimed, placing the local paper on the table with a showman’s flourish that made you shake your head fondly.

 

> _Byline: Galadriel Silvermann_
> 
> _In an unprecedented display of community spirit, local motorcycle club, ‘The Company, showed up to entertain children at the Bree Club afternoon activity centre. Below we feature the children of local GP, Elrond Kløvedal, who commented “I’ve never heard my sons as excited about any event at the Bree Club, and I hope the leaders of The Company (Thorin “Oakenshield” Durinson and Dwalin “The Warrior” Fundinul, featured in the pictures, red.) will repeat Friday afternoon’s entertainment of the youngsters. It is my understanding that Mrs Fundinul – my sons’ favourite teacher – organised the small happening as a special treat for the children of First grade at Bree School. My daughter is now clamouring to go to school too, so she can try to sit on the bikes!”_
> 
> _The Lórien Post has been unable to reach Thorin Durinson for a comment at the time of printing, but you can be assured that we will find the elusive mechanic who put such smiles on the faces of our beloved children._
> 
>  

 

You read, astonished. Mulling over the short article, which went on to talk about a bit of the club’s history, you returned to your stove.

“But that’s a good thing, no?” you asked, flipping a pancake. “Weren’t you the one who wanted to improve the club’s image… I’m sure that was the topic of last week’s meeting?” you asked guilelessly. It hadn’t been on your mind when you sent the pictures to Elrond – you recognised the name Silvermann as the name of the formidable older woman who had come along with Elrond to talk about the children; he had introduced her as the mother of his late wife – but you couldn’t deny that it was a positive outcome. Thorin grumbled a little behind you, but he couldn’t object to your assessment, satisfying himself with a large bit of jam-dripping pancake instead. You hid a smile. Dwalin rose, pressing a kiss beneath your ear.

“You sent those pictures, didn’t you, amrâlimê?” he asked quietly.

“To Elrond, yes,” you admitted, sliding a pancake onto his plate and watch him drizzle your favourite dark syrup on it before he rolled it up, holding it for you to eat while you tipped the pan to spread the batter evenly.

“ _You_ did this?!” Thorin exclaimed, staring at you. A glob of jam fell from his half-eaten pancake to splatter on his blue shirt, but Thorin didn’t notice.

“Elrond asked me to keep him informed of the boys’ wellbeing,” you shrugged. “Little Aragorn lost his mum only 6 months ago, and his dad died in war before he was even born,” you continued sadly, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile before Friday,” you admitted, your heart bleeding for the small child. Thorin made an odd sound, but you understood it to be the sympathy he felt difficult to express in words. War orphans always hit them both hard you knew, giving Dwalin a gentle squeeze as you flipped your pancake. He offered you another bite of his, giving you a soft smile and kissing your cheek.

“Maybe I should call this Galadriel lady,” Thorin muttered after eating another five pancakes. You smiled. Sometimes, he really did make you proud, coming out of his misanthropic shell.

“Maybe you should go meet with her,” you suggested, pressing a small kiss against the crown of his head. Thorin blushed. He still wasn’t used to the random tokens of affection you bestowed on all of Dwalin’s family – and Thorin was family, in your mind – though he always melted when he watched you playing with young Fíli, who claimed you were the best at reading goodnight stories. You had a feeling that had something to do with a previous girlfriend of Dwalin’s but you didn’t pry.

“I’ll call her tomorrow.” Thorin said, standing decisively and kissing your cheek in goodbye. He clasped Dwalin’s arm in some mystifying male ritual of goodbyes you had long ago decided not to ask about, and left your small house.

Dwalin smiled at you, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around you in a hug. You leaned against him with a small sigh. Stretching up to kiss his jaw, you wrinkled your nose.

“You smell, my love,” you chuckled, colour rising in your cheeks at the memory of just how he came to smell that way – a little grateful that Dwalin and Thorin weren’t _huggers_ ; there was no denying the origin of the smell that clung to Dwalin’s beard. He carefully dried the plates you were washing.

“I’ll go do some yard-work this afternoon, have a shower, then we’ll go eat at Bombur’s for dinner later?” he asked, pulling on some old jeans. You nodded.

“Use shampoo AND conditioner on that beard Mister Fundinul,” you waved the dishwashing brush at him threateningly. Dwalin chuckled, kissing your forehead and disappearing out the door, leaving you to put on a cup of tea and curl up in front of the large French windows with a book you pretended to read while ogling your shirtless husband. You wondered if it was in his genes somewhere, this imperviousness to cold that Thorin also seemed to share, but you couldn’t deny that it was a pleasing view even if you were still sated from earlier. Smiling to yourself, you sipped the tea and enjoyed the sound of silence around you, the muffled sound of Dwalin’s old-fashioned hand-pushed lawn-mower soothing through the window. You didn’t even notice when you fell asleep, the mug still cradled in your hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!


	4. Touching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cuddles and flangst! Also a bit of smut

“You remember little Aragorn?” you asked Dwalin. Looking up from the Thursday night crime drama marathon on telly he’d been watching, Dwalin gave you a quizzical look.

“Oh!” he exclaimed. “The little orphan boy who sat on my bike?”

“Yes,” you nodded, pouring the boiling water into the tea-pot to warm it. “He’s in my class, along with his twin foster-brothers.”

“Been asking for another go, has he?” Dwalin chortled. You smiled; he wasn’t all wrong, after all.

“You’ve been asked to be my ‘Show and Tell’ on Tuesday,” you said, turning to wink at him and pouring the water from the warmed teapot, adding the leaves with an experienced hand before pouring the warm water.

“’Show and Tell’?” Dwalin asked, raising a questioning eyebrow.

“Well, usually it’s something the children do,” you explained, “bringing a pet to school and doing a small presentation, or talking about a hobby, for example.”

“And I’m your hobby?” Dwalin’s chortles became outright guffaws at that. You laughed lightly, setting the teapot on the small table in front of the tv and nudging his legs to make space for you on the sofa. Dwalin pulled you back to lean against him instead, wrapping his arms around your middle. You shook your head, turning to kiss him slowly. Leaning back against him, you pulled your legs up to rest alongside his, cradling your mug of tea in your hands.

“No, but bikes are _your_ hobby,” you teased, kissing him slowly. Dwalin chuckled, kissing you back. His hand was warm against your abdomen, warmer still when he ‘snuck’ it underneath your blouse to find your skin. “It was Aragorn’s idea, but I mentioned it to Principal Grey, and he thought it was a brilliant idea. So, if you wouldn’t mind, you’ve been officially invited to show up at Bree School on Tuesday for a show and tell about the Company and bikes.” Dwalin was probably the most tactile person you knew, he loved to hold you, no matter what you were doing. In the beginning, it had been odd, finding yourself pulled into his lap at random times or having him play with your hair when you cooked, but now it was simply normal to you. Dwalin’s hand was idly stroking your stomach, fingertips pushing the waistband of your skirt down. His other large palm was cupping your breast lightly, almost petting you. You pushed your breast a little more into his hand, already feeling moisture gathering further down even if you knew that Dwalin wouldn’t take it that far – neither of you fancied the sofa for more intimate endeavours. Dwalin claimed he was too old – making out on the sofa was fine, and he’d even brought you off a time or two with his fingers, but he vastly preferred your bed, claiming that sex on a sofa was too teenager-y for a man who had a perfectly good bed to take his wife apart in. Taking a sip of your tea, you relaxed against Dwalin, enjoying the calm evening.

“I’ll speak to Thorin about it. Doreen’ll be there already, and Nori could probably come too.” Dwalin offered, stroking your skin. Removing his hand from your breast to pick up his own cuppa, he sipped slowly, turning his attention back to the grisly murder on screen.

“Wouldn’t have to be all of you,” you offered. “But the children have been clamouring for a repeat of ‘Bike-day’ – I know Bofur and Nori told you that – at Bree Club, and I thought it would be a good opportunity to show both the children and their parents that you’re not the hell-raisers and hooligans they might think when they look at your leather vests.” Dwalin hummed lightly, his fingers drawing circles around your navel.

 

* * *

 

Later, as you fell back onto the mattress in exhaustion, you wondered about Dwalin’s tactile nature. The bastard knew just how to play with you until you were putty in his hands – if it weren’t so enjoyable, it would be annoying as all hells – and frequently did, tormenting you into needy begging.

“Sometimes, I wonder why you do it,” you murmured sleepily, torn between jealousy and gratitude towards whatever woman had turned Dwalin into such an exceptional lover. When he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you back to rest your head on his shoulder, the sound of his slowing heartbeat lulled you off into a doze.

“Do what?” he asked, when you were almost asleep.

“Touching,” you yawned, pressing a kiss against his shoulder. “You’re always touching me; even when you’re not doing it for sexual reasons.” Dwalin stiffened. Carefully removing his arm from your back, he began to move away. Wrinkling your nose, you made a murmur of protest, clutching his body to prevent him leaving the lovely cocoon of your bed. “Where you going?” you murmured, almost asleep.

“Want a drink,” he muttered, “go to sleep, Anna.” Sliding himself off the sheets, ignoring your disgruntled mumble as sleep rose up to claim you, Dwalin stood there, watching you for a long moment. You did not wake to hear the door close behind him.

 

* * *

 

 

“Not that you’re not welcome anytime, Dwal,” Thorin yawned hugely, “but it’s 2:30 in the morning. Shouldn’t you be at home, cuddling with Anna?” Dwalin flinched, nearly dropping the tumbler of scotch he’d just poured for himself. Thorin stared. This was… not good. “Dwalin? Did something happen?” he asked carefully, having flashbacks of a few years before, when Dwalin was still going out with whats-her-face – Dís called her She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in perfect seriousness – and they’d argued about something; usually that Dwalin spent too much time with Thorin and Dís, whom the She-Devil – another one of Dís’ euphemisms – did not approve of.

“I don’t know how not to do it, Thorin,” Dwalin moaned, tossing back the drink.

“Do… what?” _Really_ , Thorin thought _, it could have been any number of things._ The Ex™ hadn’t liked a lot of the things that made Dwalin happy, which was why they’d been so cautious about him taking up with Anna almost out of the blue. The way she had seamlessly slotted into all their lives still amazed him at times, feeling like Anna had always been there, even if it had been less than three years since the first time they met.

“Touching her!” Dwalin cried. “I don’t even notice I’m doing it, most of the time.” The touching… _oh._ Thorin’s mind whirled. The Ex™ hadn’t approved of Dwalin’s tactile nature, but he hadn’t thought it bothered Anna at all – in truth, he would watch her move into whatever touch Dwalin was giving her more often than not.

“I didn’t think Anna minded?” he asked, frowning. They’d been married for some time now, more than a year, and Dwalin had been just as tactile before the wedding, Thorin knew. Why should it bother her now? Dwalin didn’t seem to have a reply to that, staring despondently into his tumbler. Thorin realised that he was wearing nothing more than a pair of boxers turned inside out, which honestly wasn’t a great plan in the middle of the night in November, even if their family had always had a high tolerance for cold, often going bare-chested by March. Pulling out a large woollen blanket – Dís had had a period of knitting-frenzy while she was pregnant with Fíli – he wrapped it around Dwalin’s shoulders.

“She just mentioned it…” Dwalin mumbled, pulling the blanket closer around him with a light shiver. Thorin had a flash of insight. The Ex™ had often ‘just mentioned’ something which was really a criticism and Dwalin had learned to be on guard.

“I’m sure Anna didn’t mean it like that.” Thorin tried, rubbing Dwalin’s shoulder. “Now, why don’t you finish that, and then we’ll get to bed, aye? You can crash here, if you like,” Thorin really hoped Dwalin would protest, ask for some clothes and drive home, but it didn’t surprise him when his best friend just nodded woodenly, following him into the bedroom and collapsing on Thorin’s bed. It was a long time before Dwalin’s snores filled the room.

 

* * *

 

 

You woke up to an empty house; Dwalin’s side of the bed long-since cold. With a frown, you got up to get yourself some breakfast, wondering where your husband had gone; _had he talked about heading in to work early?_ Shaking your head, you made a cup of tea, fairly sure that Dwalin had made no such mention. On the other hand, Friday was your ‘late’ start, so he might have simply decided not to wake you when he left? Even though you usually ate breakfast together – Thorin didn’t mind Dwalin showing up late-ish on Fridays; a mark of their strong friendship. Sipping your tea, you got dressed slowly, frowning when you realised that Dwalin’s jacket was still in the hall closet, even if his boots were missing.

Heading out to your car in the light drizzle, you shot off a simple ‘ _good morning, love_ ’-text, noting the absence of Dwalin’s bike before you hopped into your small green car and headed to work.

 

* * *

 

The day began busily, and you didn’t have time to check your phone until you were already heading into the supermarket, thinking about dinner. Dwalin had not replied to your text, which was odd. Frowning, you texted him again, asking about dinner desires. No answer. _Oh, well,_ you thought, turning down the dairy section, _perhaps he forgot his phone._ Grabbing a few litres of milk and a pint of cream, you decided to make chicken with bacon and honey-mustard cream sauce. Humming lightly to yourself, you pushed the cart along, picking up a few baggies of frozen fruit – you were in the mood for a daiquiri after your long day – as well as a tub of ice cream.

 

When you left the supermarket, stuffing two over-filled tote-bags in the trunk of your car, you felt quite happy; looking forward to the weekend – _maybe Dwalin would like to go to the movies or something?_

Singing along with the radio, you arrived home before you knew it, though Dwalin’s bike was still missing. With a sigh, you began carting the heavy bags into the kitchen, grumbling lightly under your breath. _What was the point of having such a strong hunk of a husband if he wasn’t around to haul heavy things?_

Getting started on dinner seemed like a good plan, once you’d finished putting the shopping away; Dwalin was bound to be home soon. Humming to yourself, you set about mixing honey and mustard – the shops might _sell_ honey-mustard, but it just wasn’t the same – thinking about your late father who’d turned this dish into a culinary staple of your childhood. It was easy, though it tasted like it took effort. Blanching some fresh green beans, you put the chicken in the pan, enjoying the smell of bacon sizzling. Putting the water on for the pasta, you looked at the clock with a frown. Dwalin was never this late.

When the food was ready, you were beginning to worry. Calling the garage only got you to voicemail, as did calling Dwalin’s cell, which you could hear buzzing in the bedroom.

“Thorin!” you cried out, when he finally picked up his mobile.

“Anna?” he asked gently, obviously picking up on your distress. “What’s wrong?”

“Dwalin isn’t home yet,” you explained, panicking, “his jacket was here this morning, but the bike is gone and his phone is in our bedroom! When did he leave the shop?” you asked, worry mounting. “What if he’s had an accident? The roads are slippery today, with the rain. What if he’s hurt or lying in a ditch somewhere freezing because he forgot his jacket?” you were babbling and you knew it. Pacing across the kitchen floor, you heard Thorin mutter something to someone in the background.

“Anna,” Dwalin’s rich voice came through the phone. You nearly collapsed into a chair, clutching the small rectangle as your heart raced. “I’m fine, elskling, hush now,” he soothed, “just had a few things to sort out with Thorin, I’m sorry I forgot to call you.” Feeling a little foolish for panicking, you tried to control your breathing.

“It’s okay, love,” you whispered, though you knew it wouldn’t be _okay_ until Dwalin was _here_ , was holding you and you could reassure yourself that he really _was_ fine. “Coming home soon?” you tried to make your voice sound cheerful, though you had a feeling you failed, “I made chicken,” you added. Dwalin hummed.

“I’ll be back in twenty minutes, Anna, I promise,” he said, soothingly. You hugged yourself, nodding even though he couldn’t see you.

“Okay.”

 

* * *

 

“So what have you accomplished today, Dwalin?” Thorin mocked lightly, cuffing the back of Dwalin’s shaved head, “’Why, yes, Thorin, I’ve drunk half your good scotch AND made my wife think I _died_ – all in all, it’s been a smashing good time!’”

“Thank you, Thorin, I don’t need you to tell me how much of a jerk I am,” Dwalin sighed, picking at the sleeve of the shirt Thorin had lent him that morning. It was large on Thorin, but snug on him, delineating his toned physique in perfect detail.

“Now go sort out things with Anna… before she decides to be more angry than worried,” Thorin smirked, prodding Dwalin out the door.

“Yes, yes, I’m going, I’m going!” Dwalin grumbled good-naturedly.

 

 

“Anna!” Dwalin called, entering the house. Toeing off his boots, he walked into the kitchen. He stopped dead in the doorway. “Oh, elskling,” he whispered, staring at the obvious trails of tears down her cheeks.

“Dwalin!” Anna sobbed, throwing herself into his arms. Dwalin couldn’t help but wrap her in a tight hug, murmuring apologies into her soft hair.

“I’m sorry, sweetling,” Dwalin whispered, stroking her hair, “I didn’t mean to worry you so. I just didn’t think…”

“You scared me…” she mumbled, snuggling into his chest. “Where did you go?”

“Ahh,” Dwalin knew he was blushing, wondering how to explain the mess in his head. Walking to the table, he winced at the sight of the food that had gone cold by now, taking Anna’s hand and drawing her to sit in her chair. “I need to speak with you.”

 

* * *

 

You stared wide-eyed at Dwalin, sinking into your chair. He looked unaccustomedly nervous.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, suddenly just as nervous. Dwalin reached for your hand, but pulled back before he could touch. You frowned. _What was the matter with him?_

“I need to ask…” he trailed off, turning to look out the French doors to the garden.

“Ask me what?” you mumbled, feeling somehow afraid of what the look on his face meant.

“Do you mind?” he asked, leaving you to stare bewildered at him. _Mind what?_

“Mind what, Dwalin?” you frowned at him, confused now more than nervous.

“The…” he trailed off again, blushing. “I…” he paused again, staring at your hand once more. Impulsively, you reached for him, pleased when he didn’t pull away. “I touch you.” He stated. You nodded. That was true. “A lot.” Also true. You were still confused as to his point, however.

“Yes? I don’t know what you want me to say, Dwalin?” you asked, squeezing his hand.

“Does it bother you?” he murmured, staring at your dainty hand on top of his large fist. You chuckled. Rising from your seat, you walked around the table, tugging on Dwalin’s hand until his arm moved, letting you slip onto his lap. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you leaned in to kiss his nose playfully.

“Why should it bother me that my husband likes to touch me?” you whispered, kissing his cheek. “That my husband finds pleasure in the feel of my body?” Kissing his lips softly, once, twice, you smiled against his mouth when his arm closed around you, pressing you against his chest. “My Dwalin,” you murmured. “IF I did not enjoy your touch… would I not have told you so, long ago?” Deepening the kiss, you did not wait for an answer, enjoying the way his tongue came to play with yours. All your earlier emotional upheaval seemingly melted into desire, feeling Dwalin’s own arousal pressing against your left hip. When his hand came down to wrap around your right hip, you spread your legs slightly, allowing him to move his hand between them to cup your mound gently. “Dwalin…” you moaned lightly, “touch me.”

“Amrâlimê,” he mumbled, kissing you fervently, as his hand pressed up against your core. You mewled. Dwalin’s deep chuckles rumbled through his chest into yours as you scrabbled for the waistband of his pants. With a laugh, Dwalin lifted you off his lap, pushing the plate away from his seat and setting you on the edge of the dining table, his thick fingers still playing across the seam of your leggings. Spreading your legs to either side of his hips, you pulled at his shirt, turning the kiss frenzied.

“Too tight,” you muttered, fighting with the taut fabric. Dwalin chuckled, growling low in his throat when you simply pushed his shirt up, attaching your lips to one of his pierced nipples. You heard the sound of fabric ripping, and then one finger, blessedly thick and dextrous, was pushed into your willing flesh. Moaning against his chest, your rocked yourself against his hand, chasing your peak. “Dwal…” you gasped, moaning when his free hand fisted in your hair, drawing your head back to let him plunder your mouth. Mimicking the motion of his fingers, his tongue thrust into your mouth, stealing your moans before they could spill from your lips. Thumping your breast, Dwalin flicked your nipple, growling at the intervening cloth. Wrenching his jeans open, you made him hiss as you wrapped your hand around his hardness, stoking the fire between you. Your orgasm took you by surprise when Dwalin curled his thick fingers inside you, your back bowing in pleasure as you cried out into the depths of his mouth.

“Fuck, Anna,” Dwalin growled, and you felt him lift you again, his fingers still buried inside you. Wrapping your legs around his hips, you trusted him to take your weight as he moved into your bedroom. Pressing you up against the wall, you hissed as his lips attacked your neck, clutching his shoulders as his fingers began to move once more.

“Yesss, Dwa-a-lin!” you cried, protesting loudly when he pulled out of you, keeping him close by the strength of your legs. Dwalin groaned.

“Anna, my Anna,” he moaned, and you felt something larger than Dwalin’s fingers fill you as he thrust up into you with a loud grunt. He set a nearly brutal pace, but you met him thrust for thrust, biting at his ears and neck, panting your breath into his ear with every thrust. “Come for me, elskling,” he begged, speeding up. Your head thumped back against the wall, your hands pressing his face into your neck, mewling as you felt him suckling bruises into your skin.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you cried, gasping. Dwalin grunted into your neck, his rhythm faltering as he neared completion. Hurtling over the edge, you clamped down hard on him, making him groan out his own release.

“Anna,” he mumbled, thrusting lazily as you quivered with aftershocks. You panted for breath. His stomach rumbled loudly.

“Dwalin,” you laughed, feeling him snicker against your throat as his belly growled again.

“Think dinner is still edible?” he wondered, pulling away from you with a kiss, letting your legs down, steadying you until you found your feet.

“Probably,” you smirked, removing the condom he’d grabbed from the box in his nightstand and pulling his underwear back up, tossing the latex tube in the trashbin.

“Sorry about your leggings,” he muttered sheepishly, doing up his jeans. You laughed, pulling the ripped fabric off your legs.

“I’m not,” you smirked, pinching his butt as you moved into the bathroom to wash your hands. Dwalin chuckled glueing himself along your back and putting his large hands under the flowing water. Soaping up your hands, you turned your head to kiss him languidly as Dwalin washed his own fingers.

 

“It’s probably not as good as it was an hour ago,” you muttered, moving Dwalin’s plate back to his seat. When his arm stole around your waist, you shrieked with laughter when he pulled you back onto his lap, leaning against his wide chest as Dwalin filled the plate. His laugh filled the room as his fingers played across your belly, which seemed to wake up all of a sudden, demanding sustenance with a loud rumble. Twirling his fork in the pasta, adding a chunk of chicken, Dwalin fed you one mouthful, then took one for himself. When he had repeated that four times, his strong arm keeping you firmly seated on his powerful thigh, you finally manage to ask, “Are you going to feed me like this?”

“Yes,” Dwalin nodded, turning his head to nip at the tip of your ear. You picked the fork from his hand, loading up another mouthful of food and bringing it to his lips. “Or you can feed me?” he chuckled, taking the offering easily. You smiled.

When you were both full, Dwalin dragged you to the sofa, pulling you down to lie along the length of him, just like he had last night, turning on the telly and finding a random movie to watch as you digested the food.

 

“I bought ice cream,” you murmured an hour later, feeling comfortably drowsy as Dwalin’s fingers played lightly across your skin. He chuckled into your ear.

“Want some?” he asked. You shook your head.

“No.” you sighed, turning your head to kiss his bearded jaw. “I want you to stay here, and hold me.”

“I can do that,” he vowed, pressing a kiss to your temple. His hand made lazy circles along your side, rucking up your shirt to find bare skin at one point as you drifted, the movie little more than background noise as you sank into a half-asleep state in Dwalin’s arms.

 

 


	5. Sweetness to Tears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be pure fluff and kisses... and yeah, there is some, but mostly it's angst.

 “Doreeeeen,” you cajoled, giving the older lady your best puppy eyes. Doreen just laughed, tapping a few keys on her computer. “Pleeeeaaasee,” you whined. “I promise to love you forever and ever, but pleeease do this for me!”

Doreen sighed, giving you a stern glance over her glasses – you often wondered how a woman who looked like the stereotypical secretary, down to the sensible shoes and gold wirerimmed glasses, was also a card-carrying member of a motorcycle club – and sighed again, this time in defeat.

“Fine,” she said. “But you’ll show up at mine bright and early tomorrow, and no telling Balin!”

“Yes!” you crowed, jumping up from your seat to hug her. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” You nearly danced out of her small office, bumping into Mr Grey by accident.

“Good afternoon, Anna,” he said, kindly steadying you.

“It is, Mr Grey!” you enthused, smiling widely. The old man chuckled. Giving Doreen a small wave, he disappeared into his office, the rhythmic _thunk-pause-thunk_ of his walking stick hitting the floor one of the sounds you had come to love about Bree School.

“Bright and early!” Doreen threatened, waving you off with another fond chuckle.

“And no telling Balin, I know,” you replied cheekily before retreating from the office, seeking out your little dark green car. You knew the symbol at the front end was the manufacturer’s sigil, but you really cared little to remember who made your car. The car had been Dwalin’s idea – you had not wanted a bike of your own; why would you, when it was more fun to sit behind Dwalin, wrapping your arms around his bulk? Dwalin had offered to build you one himself, but you had stuck with the car idea and he had chosen the make, model and colour – it matched his bike, which secretly pleased you no end, even if you claimed your favourite colour was blue – after long nights of debating things like safety and reliability and even sustainability with Thorin while you pretended you knew what they were talking about half the time. It worked – Dwalin, of course, kept it in perfect condition – the radio worked, too, and it didn’t seem to require too much fuel. You loved the little thing, really – you had paid for it, after Dwalin had decided which car you should have – feeling that it was a lovely example of how much your husband of almost two years cared about you.

 

* * *

 

Next morning, just before 7, you left the house you shared with Dwalin, telling him you’d be having breakfast with Doreen and then going out for a spot of retail therapy after her last failed date. He had simply chuckled, kissing your cheek with a reminder that Balin would be coming around for supper and turned over, wanting another hour of sleep before heading off to ‘playtime’ with Thorin. They didn’t call it playtime, of course, and you probably wouldn’t tell him that was what you thought of when he tried to explain to you just why he liked going to the garage to work on bikes and engines on his days off from going to the garage and getting _paid_ to work on bikes and engines. The happiness he found there warmed your heart, and the door was always open, he’d promised, even if you barely recognised a wrench from a bolt. Sometimes you went along – mostly to gossip with Dís, who had accepted you as a new sister far more easily than you had expected when you first met the only woman who could make Thorin Oakenshield sit down and shut up, or play with Fíli, if you were honest – loving the look on his face when he watched you enjoy spending time with his family.

 

* * *

 

You didn’t feel bad for the small white lie, pulling up at Doreen’s modest cottage. The flowers in the window-boxes added a becoming touch of colour and a welcoming feel to the small white house with red shingles. You _were_ going to breakfast with Doreen, after all, though you probably wouldn’t be doing much shopping. Instead, you had asked – begged, really – Doreen to teach you some of the domestic things your computer engineer mother never bothered to learn. Specifically, baking. Doreen had the distinct advantage of being a domestic goddess in your eyes, and of your small circle of acquaintances and friends, she was the best baker. You had learned to cook – Dad was adamant that you learn to feed yourself nutritionally, without relying on a microwave. Mum hadn’t cared, and Dad’s knowledge of cooking was somewhat limited, though he did manage to feed the three of you passably well. He was a distrait man at the best of times, a scholar of some note in the field of literature, and you had spent your childhood with a meal-schedule consisting of the ten dishes he could reliably conjure up – eleven if you counted porridge – though you had read the Russian classics by age 8 and learned more than passable proficiency in the art of programming. These skills did not translate to feeding your mountain of a husband – and after you’d gotten married, you had felt a peculiar satisfaction in cooking things for Dwalin –  and though Dwalin liked cooking for you, you had decided to do something a little out of the ordinary and learn to bake him a cake for his birthday. You’d given yourself a month to work on your little secret, though Doreen claimed it wouldn’t be that hard.

“Morning, luv,” Doreen said, when she opened the door. “Come in, come in, leave your shoes. Tea’s on in the kitchen.”

Walking into the kitchen, you decided you had arrived at a professional culinary school. The counter was stocked with bowls and more utensils than you knew what to do with, bags of flour, sugar, and cocoa, cartons of eggs – Doreen kept chickens, or rather, Nori kept chickens at Doreen’s house – and other sundry ingredients not immediately identifiable to your inexperienced eye. A large platter of freshly baked scones met your eyes, making your teeth water. Slathering Doreen’s homemade jam on your scone – seriously, _how_ had no one snapped up such a wife, you wondered – you barely paused to bite into a small piece of _heaven_ with a happy groan.

“Not every day you have pretty women moaning in your kitchen, Dori,” came Nori’s cheeky voice from behind you, stealing a still-warm scone over your shoulder. “Does Dwalin know how your baked goods seduce his wife?”

“Watch your mouth, rascal,” Doreen warned with a smile. Nori grinned. “You staying here for the day, brother?” she asked, calmly spreading butter on her own scone.

“Nah, gonna go meet Ori. Promised them I’d take them to the park and do some sketches.” Nori replied, stuffing his face.

“Take a bag of scones with you, Nori,” Doreen proposed, though Nori had already begun filling a plastic bag with the delicious treats. “And don’t let Ori get in trouble!” she called after his disappearing figure. You chuckled. Nori just laughed.

“Bye, Dori!” Nori called in return, the door closing behind him.

* * *

 

Driving home, looking at the cake carrier on the passenger seat, you felt slightly nervous. The cinnamon swirl cake was Balin’s favourite, you’d been informed, though Doreen had had an odd smile on her face when she told you, and the large chocolate chip cookies – not as good as Doreen’s, but good for a first-timer, Doreen said – were bound to find favour with your husband, whose sweet tooth was the size of a mountain.

Arriving home, the house appeared empty. Glancing at your clock, you frowned. It was past 5 already, and Dwalin had meant to make a pot roast for supper. Walking into your house, you wondered at the utter silence of the empty building. Walking through the rooms did not produce a Dwalin, though you noticed a piece of paper next to the phone you’d forgotten this morning. The note said only ‘Call me’ in slightly shaky letters. Truly worried now, you picked up your phone with trembling hands, dialling Dwalin’s number.

“Anna!” he answered the first ring, sounding relieved and tearful.

“What’s wrong Dwalin? Where are you?” you whispered, frightened by the hoarseness of his voice.

“Ahh, we’re at the hospital, elskling, Víli-” William – Víli to his friends – was Dís husband “- was in an accident driving home from work. It’s… it’s bad. They don’t think he’s going to make it. Dís is here, and Thorin, and Balin.”

“Where’s Fíli?” you asked, worried. Dwalin groaned.

“Dís says he went to play with Thengel’s kid,” Dwalin explained. The phone rustled, changing hands. You clutched yours in a white-knuckled grip until Dís rough voice came through the speakers.

“Would you go pick him up, please, Anna?” she whispered. “I want -I want him to say goodbye.” Her voice broke on a sob, your heart breaking for her.

“I’ll go right now. Text me the address.” On your way back to the car, you called Doreen, getting her to begin calling the rest of _The Company_ , and organising some food to be taken to those keeping vigil at the hospital.

 

* * *

 

“Auntie Anna!” Fíli cried, when Thengel opened the door to admit you. The small body hurtling into your legs made you stagger slightly, wrapping your arms around him in a hug.

“Hey Fee,” you whispered. “Can you go get your things, sweetie?” He nodded, scampering back into the house. “Anna Fundinul,” you said, offering Thengel your hand.

“Thengel,” he replied. “Are you alright? You look…” he trailed off awkwardly, scratching his trim beard.

“Fíli’s dad was in an accident,” you whispered, shaking your head, “I’m taking him to Dís at the hospital. It doesn’t look like he’s going to make it.” Thengel paled, squeezing your hand a little tighter in a show of comfort.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. You nodded, wiping away the tears that kept appearing in your eyes. You managed a pale smile at Fíli, whose golden curls and small face were so like his father’s it physically hurt when he returned the smile.

“Ready to go, sweetling?” you asked, holding out your hand. Fíli nodded, seeming to sense that something was wrong. Waving goodbye to his friend – a shy boy hiding at the back of his father’s legs, he grabbed tight to your fingers, letting you walk him to the car. You had a child seat in the back – with your work hours, Dís often called you to pick up Fíli from day-care when her own editing job went overtime and Víli couldn’t make the hour-long commute in time – and Fíli was strapped in comfortably.

“Why are you crying, Auntie?” Fíli’s small voice sounded scared as you drove carefully through the streets towards the hospital.

“Your daddy was in an accident, Fíli,” you croaked. “He’s very hurt. We’re going to see him now, mummy’s waiting for you.” Fíli didn’t speak, just stared at you with his large blue eyes as you unbuckled his seatbelt, letting him hop out of the car.

 

“I’m looking for the Durinson family,” you told the on-duty nurse quietly. Fíli was clinging to your hand, nibbling at his bottom lip as he stared at the unfamiliar surroundings.

“Waiting room, third floor,” the nurse replied, her voice kind, but you heard nothing more as you swept Fíli into your arms, heading for the elevators.

Waiting for a car to arrive on your floor had never seemed to take so long, you thought, hugging Fíli’s small body to your chest. He had wrapped his arms and legs around you, but he wasn’t crying – not yet.

 

* * *

 

“Fíli!” Dís cried out, spotting you as soon as you stepped off the elevator. Fíli slithered down from your hold and into her arms that for a moment you wondered if he was part eel. Then Dwalin’s arms were around you, hiding his tears in your hair. Thorin had gone to hold his sister and nephew, and, for a while, no one spoke.

 

* * *

 

“Where were you?” Dwalin whispered. “You left your phone at home.”

“Doreen’s,” you replied. Dwalin growled.

“I called her. No one answered.” It dawned on you suddenly that Dwalin thought you’d been elsewhere, making Doreen cover for you. You laughed, mirth breaking through the grief in a half-strangled combination laugh-sob.

“She turned off her phone while I was there… she wa...” you hesitated. “I meant it to be a surprise for your birthday, but… I was learning how to bake,” you admitted. Dwalin shook lightly against you. “Honestly!” you cried, suddenly desperate for him to believe you. “I’ve got cinnamon swirl cake in my car and a bag of fresh cookies!”

“Oh, my Anna,” he chuckled wetly, nearly crushing you against his chest. “I do love you, elskling.” Falling back into his sombre mood, Dwalin ran his fingers through your hair and down your back, stroking your body meditatively. There was an abstract print in your eyeline, a distracting swirl of colour that seemed too bright and cheerful for a hospital ICU.

 

* * *

 

“How did it happen?” you whispered, suddenly realising that you had never asked, simply falling in with the watchful silence of your family.

“Side-swiped by a lorry running the light,” Dwalin whispered, his voice hoarse with long hours of emotional turmoil. You wrapped your fingers around his, stroking his hand gently. “He was coming back from work – he only went in so he could take the day on Tuesday for their anniversary – and the lorry just smashed into his car. They resuscitated him twice while getting here.” Dwalin fell silent, his face once more taking shelter in your long hair.

“I’m sorry, love,” you whispered. You had only known Víli for three years now, but Dwalin had known him since his family moved here when Víli was a toddler – only two years older than Dís, in fact.

 

* * *

 

“Mrs Gyldencwég?” Someone called, mangling the pronunciation terribly. Víli’s family name was apparently Old English for goldmine, harking back centuries. Dís rose woodenly. You held out your arms to take Fíli from her, the small boy having fallen asleep hours before. Thorin stuck by his sister, the two of them so alike they might have been twins if not for the seven year age gap.

Your heard Dís’ scream and Thorin’s pained bellow – no one had ever accused anyone with the blood of Durin in their veins of being a _quiet_ person when their emotions ran high – and you knew what the news must be. Dwalin squeezed your hand tightly. You weren’t surprised when he picked you up as though you weighed nothing, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you back to rest against his chest, perched on his lap. Fíli snored lightly.

 

“They say he’s braindead,” Thorin told you, his voice as dead as his eyes. “We’ve been allowed to go in and see him, but it’s only machines keeping him alive.” Dwalin’s arms were tight around you, but he released you easily, letting you take Fíli to Dís, who had sunk listlessly into a sofa, staring at mint-green walls she didn’t see. Wrapping your arm around her shoulders, you pulled her head to rest against your chest. Dís was holding her stomach like she felt ill, but she reached for Fíli before she relaxed into your hold, crying into your chest. At first, you hardly heard the murmur she pressed against your skin like a secret, but then the words registered.

“I’m pregnant.” You didn’t know what to say, simply holding her tightly.

“I’m sorry Víli won’t see that,” you whispered, tears sliding slowly down your face to land on Dís’ hair.

“Was going to tell him… Tuesday,” she sighed wetly, and you knew she had fallen asleep, even though her tears continued to fall.

 

* * *

 

The funeral was jam-packed. Víli’s colleagues had shown up in large numbers – he’d been a popular union man at the local cobber mine – and of course, The Company all showed up on their bikes to drive in cortege. You spotted Mrs Silvermann with someone you thought was her husband, standing next to Elrond Kløvedal and the four children. Little Aragorn obviously remembered his own mother’s funeral, you thought numbly, watching tears slide down his face until Mr Silvermann – he was something in local politics, you thought, for one of the eco-parties – picked him up. You squeezed Dwalin’s hand. You’d been told to wear the blue of Durin’s Clan – Dís wore a pretty topaz dress, which was apparently the colour associated with Gyldencwég’s – and Doreen had found you a lovely hat with a veil to go with it. Thorin stood with Dís, looking resplendent in a blue – you could only call it a tunic, though you didn’t often see men wearing such things – with silver embroidery along the hem and neckline. It looked very old. His leather jacket had been left on his bike, and the dark hair tumbling over his shoulders made him look like a prince from a fairy-tale book, you mused in a moment of whimsy.

When it came time for the closest family to say goodbye, dropping a symbolic handful of small pebbles onto the casket, you hadn’t expected to be joining Dwalin, but he never let go of your hand, and Dís’ wan smile when she saw you convinced you to pick up a fistful of pebbles. The thuds of small stones were loud in the silence of the graveyard.

 

* * *

 

Compared to the sombre service, the gathering afterward was raucous. Th Company were there, of course, and a few people you thought were probably Víli’s family, and everyone seemed oddly celebratory.

“This is a night to remember Víli’s life,” Dwalin explained quietly. “Honour his memory, as it were. It is not the night for mourning, Anna, it is a night to be as merry as we can be in the face of tragedy. Life goes on, and all that.” You did not think he would have been able to smile at the thought if he knew what you now knew about Dís.

“I’ll try,” you croaked, escaping his concerned gaze to find Dís, squeezing her hand comfortingly.

“I haven’t told them,” Dís said, out of the blue. “I don’t want to do it without Víli to laugh and be proud…”

You thought you understood, wrapping your arm around her shoulder. “We will be proud for him,” you promised, earning a watery smile.

“Dís,” an elderly woman said, coming to a halt before the two of you. You felt Dís stiffen, her hand wrapping in the back of your dress to keep you from moving away as the other woman obviously would have preferred.

“Holly,” Dís greeted. “I don’t believe you’ve met my sister-in-law, Anna Fundinul?” turning her head to you, she continued, a fake smile on her face, “This is Holly Gyldencwég, my Víli’s mother.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you offered sympathetically, holding out your hand for a shake that was instantly snubbed. Beside you, Dís bristled.

“Of course, we will expect young Philip to continue to spend his Sunday afternoons with us,” Holly said, as though you weren’t there at all. “You’re far too young to be a mother, after all, someone needs to see to his education.” Dís seemed speechless, but now you finally understood why you’d never met the woman before – and felt sorry you couldn’t continue to live in ignorance of this harridan’s existence.

“Actually, I will be doing that,” you interjected breezily. “After all, I have a degree in child psychology and I wrote a thesis on the education of pre-school children.” You stared at the older lady, keeping your gaze steady and calm. Some sort of protective instinct was going haywire inside you, as you engaged in a silent contest of wills with the domineering Holly Gyldencwég. With a huff, she turned on her heel, stalking off to the side of an elderly man with a kind face and the same curls Víli had passed to Fíli. “What on Earth…” you whispered, silently horrified that someone would dare to say something like that to a young widow… at her husband’s funeral!

“That was… the best thing I’ve ever seen,” Dís croaked, her eyes wide. “She’s always been a bitch, but this was a new low, even for her. Víli never truly managed to stand up to her, but he had a way of swaying her from her path.”

“So Fíli doesn’t currently spend every Sunday with that dragon?” you asked jokingly. Dís shook her head.

“Every other. He hates it. I don’t blame him. Víli hated it growing up, and she’s only gotten stricter since he was a child. Víli’s father is the nicest man you could meet, but he’s completely incapable of telling Holly no.”

“Well, you have me now,” you offered, squeezing her hand. “We’ll keep Fíli – and the little one – away from her influence as best we can.” Dís gave you a pale smile, her hand wandering to her belly.

“I’d feel bad for William,” Dís sighed, shaking her head. “Holly thought we were too young to marry at 18, but she couldn’t stop us. Then I was too young to have a child at 24, and so on. William never objected though. _He_ came to the wedding.”

“Perhaps we could set up a secret meeting that didn’t involve Holly?” you proposed, watching as the woman nearly dragged her husband out of the house and into their car – a sleek silver thing that looked expensive even to your eyes. Dís smiled, leaning her head against your shoulder.

“I’m glad Dwalin found you,” she whispered. You hugged her.

“What are our two favourite ladies plotting?” Thorin asked behind you, startling the both of you. You felt Dwalin’s warm arms wrap around your waist, pulling you back against his chest with a sigh. It had surprised you, at first, how tactile he was, but you’d decided that you rather enjoyed the way he always wanted to touch you. Leaning back into his chest, you tilted you head up, giving him a cheeky smile.

“We’re planning on deceiving a dragon and saving a young prince from its wrath,” you claimed. Dís laughed, looking startled that she still could. You caught a flash of gratitude in Thorin’s eyes, giving him a fond smile. “Also known as ‘I just met Dís’ mother-in-law’” you added.

“You should have seen Anna stare her down,” Dís chuckled, watery but genuine mirth on her face. “She was trying to demand I let Fíli go stay with them every Sunday.”

“That… cow.” Everyone could tell Thorin had wanted to use a different word – one with implied exclamation points behind it – but in that moment, Fíli’s small voice sounded between you.

“There was a dragon?” he asked, making you all laugh.

“Aye, Fíli,” Thorin said, swinging the small boy onto his shoulders. “And your Auntie Anna made it go away.” He grinned boyishly at you, while Fíli simply stared, his mouth a perfect ‘o’. Dwalin kissed your head.

“Story?” Fíli tried hopefully, still looking at you. With a chuckle, you accepted the small boy, sinking down on the sofa with Dís on one side and Dwalin on the other. Thorin claimed the armchair for himself with an expectant grin.

“Well, once upon a time, there was an evil dragon, who was holding a young prince prisoner,” you began. “Because the dragon believed his hair was made of gold!” Fíli touched his own hair. You winked. “For many years, the dragon controlled the young prince, always careful that his golden hair was the shiniest of her treasures…

 

* * *

 

An hour later, the brave princess had rescued the golden prince and they lived happily ever after, though Fíli had fallen asleep at some point, scampering over to snuggle with his mother, who was also asleep.

“We’ll get them to bed,” Dwalin whispered, making you realise that the party had gone. Someone – Doreen or Balin, you bet – had cleaned up most of the supplies, the snacks and the drinks, and even made inroads on doing the dishes. With a soft smile, Dwalin picked up the sleeping Dís and Thorin carefully removed Fíli from her grasp, taking the boy to bed while Dwalin carried Dís into her own bedroom.

“Should we leave her alone?” you asked, worriedly.

“I’ll sleep in here tonight,” Thorin said calmly. “You two get home and get some sleep too. Thank you for coming,” he added, but you both waved the gratitude away.

“Sleep well, Thorin,” you murmured, brushing past him with a kiss on the cheek.

* * *

 

Dwalin drove home in silence. You hardly noticed the road, almost asleep yourself when the car stopped and Dwalin pulled your sleep-limp form from your seat. With a sleepy murmur of protest, you wrapped your arms around his neck, soothed by the familiarity of his rumbling chuckle reverberating through your chest.

You tried to cooperate when he began to undress you, though you found it impossible to open your eyes for any length of time. Sliding under the covers you didn’t even bother with a nightdress, simply snuggling into Dwalin’s bulk and sighing sleepily when his warm arm wrapped around your middle.

 


	6. Daydreams and Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smuffy chapter 
> 
> This is also E

Driving off into the blue on a hot summer’s day sitting on the back of a bike might not have been your favourite daydream growing up, but sitting on the back of Dwalin’s bike, feeling the powerful rumble of the machine and tracing his solid abs beneath his shirt was one of your current life’s recurring daydreams-turned-reality.

Enjoying the feel of the sun’s warmth against your back, you sighed, snuggling closer into the warm leather that covered Dwalin’s broad back in front of you. He wasn’t going particularly fast, a leisurely drive being your purpose; finding a lovely spot for a picnic. You had packed a small picnic blanket, a thermos of your favourite tea and a box of sandwiches and set off into the blue, driving next to green and gold fields. One of your hands was lightly resting on Dwalin’s thigh, the purr of the engine – Dwalin had nothing but disdain for bikers who thought their main purpose was making noise, even if his bike was capable of being very loud when he removed some thingymajig or other for fun – had almost lulled you to sleep, tracing small circles across his blue jeans. When you stopped moving, you reacted with little more than a sleepy grumble, making Dwalin’s chuckle reverberate through his chest.

“Look, my Anna,” he said, the possessive endearment he made your name sound like filling you with the same feeling of acceptance, safety, and love as it had the very first time you’d met in person, when he had first spoken it as a greeting. You opened your eyes. The fields had disappeared, giving way to a small wood, and Dwalin had brought you to a sun-dappled clearing with the greenest grass you’d ever seen. You sat back, staring, while Dwalin efficiently dismounted, chuckling when he held out his hand to help you down. It might not be necessary for him to help you – you had had years of practise by now, even if the bike was big; it had been made to suit Dwalin, and your smaller stature meant you clambered onto your seat most of the time – but you gave him a sunny smile for it anyway, laughing with joy when he put his hands on your waist and swung you into his arms. With a kiss, he set you down on the ground.

“It’s beautiful, Dwalin,” you smiled. “Have you been here before?” You turned around to look at the small meadow again, toeing off your practical sneakers, and missed the shadow that crossed his face at your innocent question.

“Once or twice,” he claimed, woodenly. You looked up, half-way through removing your leggings – it might be summer, but riding bare-legged was a bit cold at high speeds – but Dwalin smiled at you. “I want better memories of this place with you.”

“Well, then, Mr mysterious, get the picnic unloaded!” you commanded, laughing at the look on his face when you tried emulating Thorin’s deep voice. Dwalin grinned.

“You’re a heap of trouble, my Anna,” Dwalin muttered, shaking his head, but he smiled at you when you danced barefoot across the grass, your light summer dress fluttering around your thighs.

 

Falling back on the picnic blanket, you stared at the fluffy white clouds drifting lazily across the blue sky. “I love you,” you whispered, turning your head to look at Dwalin who was snoring lightly in the sunshine. Resting your head comfortable on his middle, you traced the planes and lines of his face with your eyes. His nose bore evidence of having been broken at least thrice; a little crooked. His eyebrows – dark and bushy, the right one bisected by a scar left behind by a piece of shrapnel – often made him look angry, but you had learned to read the eyes beneath for a glance at his true emotions. The beard – you had watched its progression in pictures since he had decided to grow it fully, which suited him better than a clean-shaven face – was as bushy as the brows, but you knew it was soft to the touch. The shiny dome of his skull – carefully shaven and polished to reveal the tattoos inked into the skin – rose from its nest of wild hair, adding to the menace Dwalin exuded towards those who did not know better. The tattoos were written in runes you could not read, even if you knew them by heart now, and you’d long-ago promised yourself not to search for a translation. Dwalin had called it a war memorial, and you knew the shadows of war still haunted him, which was why you’d never asked him to tell you what it meant. Trailing your eyes down to linger on the soft lips that hid his surprisingly even teeth, you sat you, leaning down to kiss him lightly. Dwalin didn’t wake, but when you lay back down, his strong arm came down on your midriff, a grounding weight across your body. You smiled. Dwalin was strong, stronger than anyone you’d known, but his strength was tempered with kindness, and he did not need to make himself appear stronger by holding down someone weaker. Turning back to the clouds, you tried to imagine figures in the wisps, just like your grandmother had done when you were very small, before she died.

 

Sometimes you wondered how he’d ever fallen for someone like you; especially from half a world away, when all you’d had were words on a screen. Some might say you had run away after the accident that claimed the lives of your parents, but you’d needed to be _away_ at the time, an orphan from one minute to the next. Dwalin had offered – months before and half in jest – to show you the house he’d built if you ever got a chance to meet, and on a whim you’d bought a ticket; you’d been heart-sick after the small service, which had consisted of you and someone who claimed to be your mother’s aunt whom you’d never met. The empty bottle of wine beside you had probably influenced you, but when you woke up in the morning, feeling hungover and sore from sleeping in your computer chair to see the purchase confirmed email, you’d decided to take a leap of faith.

You called Dwalin from the airport, just before you got on the plane. You’d reached his voicemail, and left a – highly incoherent and worrying – message before you’d turned off the phone and spent 24 hours pretending that you were a responsible adult who knew what she was doing. Turning on your phone when you landed, you were bombarded with missed calls and increasingly frantic messages from Dwalin – even a few from Thorin, his best friend/pseudo-brother – and the phone immediately began ringing when you left baggage claim, with very little idea of how to get to Dwalin’s house from your current location.

“Anna?!” Dwalin sounded worried in your ear, but your eyes were glued to a broad back clad in black leather.

“Dwalin…” you replied shakily.

“Anna!” he sighed, “Oh, thank Mahal, lass, what did you _do_?” You watched the man scratch the back of his dark head, watching the airport light shine off the bald head above the hand. “You call me, sounding nigh unintelligible – I had _Nori_ do something computer to your message to make _some_ sense of it, but, fuck!” The expletive followed you tapping his shoulder. Dwalin whirled, probably intending to yell or intimidate whoever dared interrupt him.

“Dwalin…” you croaked, suddenly teary again.

“My Anna,” he whispered, and you found yourself surrounded by his strong arms, burying your face in his chest as he hummed soothing noises into your hair.

 

Shaking off your recollections, you turned your face towards Dwalin once more, to catch him watching you fondly. “What are you thinking about, my Anna?” he asked gently. His hand came up, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye.

“I’m happy,” you whispered, “so happy I decided not to cancel that drunken purchase.” You smiled at him. Dwalin laughed. Rising from his prone position, he cupped your face, kissing you gently.

“I swear I’ve never been so worried about anyone because I couldn’t reach them,” he chuckled. “I about had a heart attack in the bloody airport.” Twisting your fingers through the strands of his beard, you pulled him back down for a kiss, opening your mouth to play with his tongue. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you licked into his mouth, moaning lightly when his fingers tightened in your hair. Dwalin’s free hand trailed down your body and suddenly you found yourself lying on his wide chest, still lazily kissing while Dwalin’s thick fingers roamed down your body. When his warm touch reached your bum, cupping the cheek firmly before moving your leg aside and up to hitch around Dwalin’s hip. The hand returned to your arse, pressing you lightly against the suddenly very interested erection in Dwalin’s tight jeans. You whimpered into his mouth when the friction of the cloth sparked an equally urgent need in your own flesh.

“Dwalin,” you muttered, nipping at his lips. “Please tell me you’ve got a condom somewhere?” You knew from the way his hand stiffened, the guilty look flashing across his face that he did not, had not considered the possibility. You sat up, bracing your arms against his chest. Dwalin stared at the way your breasts pressed out from that pose, framed by the sweetheart neckline of your thin dress.

“ _Here?_ ” he choked, but you felt the twitch of marked interest beneath you. You nodded, making Dwalin close his eyes with a fervent curse. Smirking down at him, you bent to kiss him once more, rubbing yourself against the hard bulge.

“Why not?” you whispered. “We are hardly in public, my darling,” you teased, ending on a light gasp when one of your moves sent a zing of pleasure through your body, “you can’t claim to be unwilling?” Kissing Dwalin once more, you rose, picking up your lunchbox and the empty thermos. “Fold the blanket?” you asked. You heard him get up behind you as you walked towards the bike, stowing the box and flask in the small luggage compartment under the seat, and bending to pick up your discarded leggings. Dwalin brushed past you, grabbing your waist and lifting you into the air. You shrieked once, laughing loudly and bent your head to kiss him again, thinking him simply playful.

“Wee temptress,” Dwalin growled darkly. His lips crashed down on yours as one of his hands moved behind you. You whimpered into his mouth, wanting him just as badly as he did you.

“Dwalin?” you moaned when he set you on the bike, pushing you back to lie against the tank, protected from the sun-warmed metal by the picnic-blanket he’d spread over the handlebars and the saddle. “What are you doing…?” you asked, looking up at him bent over you and the bike. Dwalin’s eyes were nearly black, the lust in his gaze making you bite your lip.

“You’ve no idea how many years I’ve fantasised about doing this,” he whispered, flipping up your skirt to stare at your drenched sex. His eyes widened, darkening even further if that were possible. You whimpered. Forgoing panties had been a split-second decision, but it was clear from the look on Dwalin’s face – closing his eyes and breathing heavily as he struggled with something – that he had not realised that fact before now. “Lie still,” he ordered, the brusque tone making your desire rocket up a notch.

“D-Dwalin,” you stammered, slightly apprehensive. “What are you, _oh, Oh, OH!_ ” Dwalin didn’t waste time explaining, burying his face against your sex. Some distant part of you wondered how this position could be comfortable for him, bent oddly over the end of the bike, but it was quickly silenced by the part of you wanting more. “ _Dwalin_ ,” you keened, as his fingers spread you open, enjoying the feeling of his soft beard against your slick flesh. Biting your own hand to muffle your moans as Dwalin’s tongue joined his efforts, you trailed your other hand down to play with your breasts, the cloth of your dress providing lovely friction against your nipples. Dwalin smirked against you, you could feel it, fucking his tongue into your sopping heat and tickling your clit with his moustache. “Dwa- _alin!_ ” you moaned shrilly, trying to buck up against him and making the bike rock slightly beneath you. Dwalin’s curse was muffled, but suddenly you felt your feet leave the ground, your legs slung over his broad shoulders as his hands grasped your hips firmly, pressing you down against the blanket. Renewing his assault on your dripping labia, Dwalin nibbled the engorged flesh lightly. “Dwalin!” You cried out, breathless, needing more… _something_. He smirked. Wrapping his lips around your protruding clit, he sucked rhythmically, thrusting one thick finger into your pliant flesh. You felt your cunt grip tight around the invading digit, but Dwalin’s other hand was enough to keep you from throwing yourself off the bike when you exploded in pleasure. Moaning his name again, keening a low plea for something you didn’t know what was, you enjoyed the aftershocks as Dwalin gentled your heated flesh, licking lightly at your skin. Blissed out fatigue claimed you, watching through half-closed eyes as Dwalin freed himself from jeans that had gone beyond the point of uncomfortably tight, cumming after only a few strokes, his seed landing like pearls of white on the grass. You chuckled lightly, feeling overwhelmed but happy for it.

“Saw that in a porn rag when I was 16,” Dwalin mumbled, blushing furiously as he bent to kiss you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, returning the kiss enthusiastically. “Keeping the bloody thing balanced was harder than it looked!” he chuckled into your mouth, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into a close hug.

“Everything you’d dreamed?” you teased, kissing his nose. Dwalin hummed.

“Better. I get to take you home and do it again now,” he smirked. You moaned lightly, knowing that your night was unlikely to contain much sleep and looking forward to it immensely.

“I love the way you think sometimes,” you murmured, kissing him again. Dwalin laughed, joyous and free. “Let’s get home, then, husband.”

 

Leaning against Dwalin’s broad back as the bike purred to life beneath you, your hand resting on his thigh and stroking slowly, you thought that driving into the blue on a hot summer’s day sitting on the back of Dwalin’s bike was one of your favourite things to do on a quiet weekend day.

 


	7. Growth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is 5-6 years after Tears, to clarify.

Dwalin was being distant – had been for weeks, actually, ever since you got back from your teaching seminar – and you were tired of it, tired of him hiding out at the garage; leaving early and coming home late, too tired to do much more than peck your cheek and head to bed. You were worried. Not just for him, for yourself too, staring at the friendly face on the other side of the table.

“I need to speak with my husband,” you croaked, barely hearing the ‘Of course, I understand, Mrs. Fundinul, have a good day.’ chirped at your back.

 

Driving out to the garage required all your attention. Half-way hysterically, you wondered what Balin would say if you got arrested for reckless driving. Dwalin’s brother was a lawyer, and his quick wit had saved the Club from more than one legal kerfuffle.

Walking into the shop, you saw only Thorin, who looked up at you with a strained smile.

“Look, I don’t know everything that’s going on between you but…” he said, grabbing your arm as you made to pass. The pained voice made you stop, looking up at the man who was closer than a brother to your husband. Thorin’s dark blue eyes were hooded. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it, shaking his head, something like sadness in his eyes. “Just… he’s a good man,” he said, lamely, scowling at himself more than you as he let go, nearly fleeing outside into the light drizzle. Your puzzlement didn’t last long, overpowered by the loud clamour of your thoughts returning.

 

“Dwalin?” you asked, wincing when the sound startled him, hearing his curse as he banged his head against the underside of the car he was working on. Sliding out from underneath the vehicle, he looked up at you with something like apprehension, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but with you.

“What’s ye doin here, then?” he asked, his voice gruff. You noticed the lack of his customary endearment, and in your heightened emotional state it was enough to make you burst into tears, sobbing loudly into your hands. Dwalin panicked. “No, please, lass, you know I don’t like it when ye cry,” he babbled, running his hands up and down your arms, trying to soothe you. “Please, amrâlimê,” he pleaded, but you didn’t hear the ancient word, only felt the way he _wasn’t_ wrapping his arms around you, holding you tight and safe. You cried harder. Dwalin cursed. You vaguely heard the sound of fabric tearing and then his strong arms were wrapped around you, pressing your trembling body against his broad hairy chest. “Please, elskling, stop crying,” he murmured, pressing his face into your hair. Feeling marginally comforted, you hiccupped against his skin, but continued to weep. “Stop crying and tell me,” he ordered, though his voice was soft, strained somehow.

“I took a pregnancy test,” you sobbed, burrowing against his warmth.

“I know,” he whispered, and the devastation in his voice made you look up. _He knew?_ And he _wasn’t_ happy. You stared at him, tears spilling down your cheeks. Dwalin looked close to crying himself. “Please, elskling, I need… even if it’s not true,” he took a deep breath, while you stared at him, utterly confused, “please don’t tell me you decided to have an abortion.” At first, his words didn’t even register through your shock. Dwalin began babbling again. “I know you always said the school was more than enough children, you never wanted to have your own, and I never really cared, I _know_ , but…” As you watched, Dwalin seemed to crumble before your eyes. “I just… please…” You could count the times the great Dwalin Fundinul had begged for _anything_ on your hand – he was not so proud as Thorin, but pride _definitely_ ran deep in the clan of Durin, you’d learned – but Dwalin was begging now. “Please don’t tell me you want to kill our baby…”

Dwalin’s words finally registered, making your eyes widen in shock. “You… you want to have children?” you asked with a sniffle, feeling small and insecure. Your hand unconsciously went to your stomach, staring at Dwalin as you bit your lip.

“I never thought I did,” he admitted, “but… aye… I do.” You couldn’t hold back the tears that began rolling down your face. Dwalin looked chagrined. “I’m sorry!” he cried, picking you up and hugging you even tighter this time. It hadn’t been an easy realisation.

 

* * *

 

_10 days earlier:_

“I think Anna’s pregnant,” Dwalin said, staring at the fire in their small camp. Thorin startled, neither of them had said a word since Fíli and Kíli had been put to bed, hours ago.

“Congratulations,” he said, when he found his voice, picking up a stick and poking the fire awkwardly.

“We’ve never wanted children,” Dwalin admitted. “I don’t know if…” Thorin hummed.

“I think you’d be a good father,” he said, decisively. Dwalin reared back as though struck, staring at him.

“Thorin!” he exclaimed.

“What?” Thorin smirked. “Dís said so just last week, watching you teach Fíli about tying knots.” The words made a small ball of warmth appear in Dwalin’s gut, as proud embarrassment coloured his ears. “What did Anna say?” Thorin continued. The ball of warm goo was replaced with icy lead in an instant.

“She didn’t tell me,” he admitted. “I found the test wrapper in the bathroom trashcan, but not the test itself, last weekend when she went to that teachers’ seminar.”

“That’s why you’ve been walking around like a moody bear all week?” Thorin asked, glad to have a reason for Dwalin’s odd mood at last. He’d been half worried that they were having actual problems, considering saying anything even remotely related to the topic of Dwalin’s wife had been a sure way to get his head bitten off. It was the impetus behind this weekend’s camping trip in fact – as well as getting in his sister’s good books by taking the two hellions off her hands and tiring them out in the forest. Dwalin grumbled something monosyllabic; a sound Thorin had always just called ‘The Scottish noise’ which was a versatile communication tool – capable of expressing anything from incredulity over boredom to joy or anger. He had tried to copy it – his grandfather’s people were from Scotland – but he’d never managed. Dwalin had the unfair advantage of being the son of a true Scotswoman, of course, who had fallen in love with his father when she was on holiday, while his own mother was Canadian. At least that’s what Thorin told himself.

“I don’t know what to do, Thorin,” Dwalin admitted, shocking his cousin. Dwalin was never uncertain about anything, look how he’d gone after Anna in the first place, after all, getting her to move halfway across the globe to marry him.

“You don’t know?” Thorin asked dumbly. “Don’t know if you want the child?”

“I don’t know _anything!_ ” Dwalin roared, losing his temper. “I don’t even know if there IS a child!” Throwing his stick into the fire, he paced around the small clearing. “Anna said nothing about it when she got back, and I’ve been too much of a coward to bloody ask her!” Thorin gaped. Coward was another word which Dwalin embodied the antonym for; the man was a decorated war hero, for crying out loud, with the medals and scars to prove it. “And if there IS a child, and Anna doesn’t,” he paused, swallowing heavily, “doesn’t want it… what then? I’m scared to find out whether I want it… I don’t want to lose my wife, Thorin, my Anna.”

“Well, then you do know one thing,” Thorin said, trying for levity and falling short. “Look, did you never talk about the possibility?” he wondered, remembering the debacle about birth control a few years back. Anna had not been on the pill when they married, having had very little experience before Dwalin, and having bad experiences with the drug in the past. After four months of a lethargic and disinterested wife, Dwalin had nearly begged her to get off the pill again, feeling that getting anything was preferable to a moody _nothing_ – even if that meant condoms purchased in bulk. Thorin had laughed at the predicament at the time, though he had _not_ enjoyed working beside Dwalin for the four months it took his brother-in-all-but-blood to realise – something that required an intervention by Dís armed with a bunch of statistics as well as a far too teary and whisky-soaked conversation that Thorin had done his utmost to forget afterwards – that it was the pills that had killed his vixen’s drive, not some elaborate punishment she had devised for something he’d done without knowing.

“Not as such,” Dwalin frowned, slumping down on the log next to Thorin. “Anna always claimed she had enough children in her life, with the school and playing aunt for Dís’ two rascals.” Thorin nodded slowly. Dwalin blushed slightly. “The way she said it though, I kinda always assumed she thought she _couldn’t,_ ye ken.”

“And you’ve never cared,” Thorin replied, knowing the truth of that. Before he met Anna, Dwalin had pretty much only cared about his bike, Thorin, Balin, and Dís, along with Fíli, who was little more than a toddler at the time. Dwalin shook his head.

“Still don’t know that I do,” he said softly, “but the idea of watching her… watching my Anna, round with _my_ child… there’s something about that image that won’t let me go.”

“And the idea of a child…?” Thorin probed. “A small face with your eyes and Anna’s nose, maybe,” he could picture it, actually, and the sappy smile on Dwalin’s face told him he was picturing it too. “Hopefully not _your_ nose… at least if it’s a girl,” Thorin teased, startling a laugh from his companion. An owl screeched somewhere in the woods.

“Aye,” Dwalin said, when the fire had burned down to nothing but a few stray embers. “I think I’d like to have a child. With Anna’s nose.” Thorin just nodded, relieved that this conversation had not involved enough whiskey to kill lesser men nor a teary-eyed Dwalin wondering if he was so bad at sex his new wife would divorce him. All in all, a weekend with his nephews in the woods was better for both of them physically – and mentally, Thorin ruefully admitted, still carrying the scars of watching his _sister_ give an in-depth explanation of female anatomy, complete with charts – dragging Dwalin away from the ashes of their fire and pushing him towards the tent.

 

* * *

 

“You- you want to have a baby with me?” you asked, feeling ten tons lighter all of a sudden. Dwalin had always been indifferent to the idea the few times it had come up in conversation, and though you had watched him with his pseudo-nephews, he’d never expressed real desire to be a father – much like you’d never truly wanted to be a mother. Being the mother of _Dwalin’s_ child, however… you felt like crying all over again when he nodded, kissing your forehead as he put you back on the floor.

“Aye, amrâlimê, I do,” he said, hoarsely. For the first time, you noticed the tired circles beneath his eyes, the strain he couldn’t quite hide when you were this close. You cupped his face, kissing him gently.

“Dwalin, I’m pregnant,” you whispered, the smile breaking through your resurgent tears. “You’re going to be a father.”

“Anna,” he whispered, suffusing your name with so much love it broke your heart. “Tell me again that you want to keep my child.” His hand had slid down, closing around yours and pressing against your abdomen lightly, even if there was nothing much to feel at all; hardly even a bump yet. “Tell me.”

“Our child,” you whispered, pulling your hand away so his rested against your soon-to-be-growing belly. “Our child is in there, my love.” You weren’t surprised when you felt his arm wrap around your back, though you had not expected him to fall to his knees, burying his face against your middle and the outright sobbing nearly scared you. Humming softly, you scratched your fingers through the hair at the back of his head, stroking the shiny dome with its intricate ink gently. Dwalin’s sobs abated, giving way to tiny kisses all over your stomach, his beard tickling through your shirt. Feeling buoyed by his positive reaction, you reached into your bag, pulling out a small piece of paper. There was little enough to see, but you’d needed _proof_ , somehow, and the technician had been kind enough to circle the small blobs you needed to show him. Stuffing the paper underneath his palm, you waited for his reaction.

“What’s this?” Dwalin asked, staring confusedly at the small black-and-white printout. The blue ink from the technician’s pen did not seem to make sense to him.

“This is the reason I hope your cousins will be willing to help us redo the spare room as a nursery,” you whispered. “This is the first picture of our children.”

“…” Dwalin stared up at you for a few seconds, his eyes wide. “THORIN!!” he bellowed. You jumped, which instantly made Dwalin look contrite, rising from his position with one last bristly kiss on your belly to claim your lips in a blazing kiss, his hand rubbing lightly across your abdomen, the picture clenched tightly in his fist.

“Aye?” Thorin asked, popping his head through the door – apparently, he had returned once you’d disappeared into the garage. Dwalin grinned.

“Come see what my Anna brought me,” he crowed, holding out the printout. You grinned.

“Ah, a whatsit… sonogram!” Thorin replied, proud that he’d remembered the term. You laughed, joy filling your veins with bubbles as Dwalin picked you up and spun you around, reclaiming your lips once more. “Congratulations, both of you,” he smiled, clapping Dwalin on the shoulder. His eyes returned to studying the small picture. “Err, what’s the markings?”

“Twins,” Dwalin exclaimed, kissing you breathless. “We’re having twins.” Thorin sat down heavily, staring from the picture to you to the picture a few times, lost for words. “You’re going to be an Uncle to my twins!” Dwalin laughed

“I’m still hoping for girls… with Anna’s nose,” Thorin remarked faintly. You chuckled, kissing Dwalin’s nose and making it twitch – much like another protrusion currently digging into your belly, in fact.

“Nothing’s wrong with Dwalin’s nose,” you said. Thorin laughed. Digging in one of the toolboxes, he uncovered a magnet, tacking the sonogram picture to the notice board.

“It’s a fine nose… on Dwalin.” With a wink, Thorin turned back to you, kissing your forehead. “Congratulations, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Now take Dwalin away and make sure he gets _some_ sleep tonight. He’s been a mess for weeks!” Looking up at your powerfully built husband, you knew Thorin was right; even if Dwalin’s smile was currently as powerful as the sun, he looked tired.

“I’ll take good care of him,” you promised. “He’s only got 6 more months to stockpile sleep, after all.” With a wink at Thorin, who chuckled good-naturedly, you dragged Dwalin out of the garage. He shivered lightly.

“Let me get my jacket, woman,” he grumbled, but the smile never left his face.

“Why are you half-naked?” you wondered, enjoying the view as he rooted through his locker, looking for a shirt but finding only his leather jacket.

“Engine grease on my shirt,” he said sheepishly. “I wasn’t about to hug you like that.” He gestured to your white shirt, “Though perhaps it was a waste,” he sighed. “I didn’t think about wiping off my hands,” he continued sheepishly, while you stared at the large black smudges that marred your white shirt.

“I just bought this last month!” you complained, glaring at him half-heartedly.

“I’ll buy you another,” he promised, sealing it with a kiss. “Now let’s go home and I’ll try to make up for ruining your shirt.” Wrapping his arms around you, he kissed your temple. “Perhaps you should just take it off,” he suggested, fingering the top button. You felt your nipples perk up against the fabric of your bra. Smirking lasciviously, he licked his lips. You suddenly had a very good idea of what was going through his mind. “I wonder if you taste differently now,” he whispered, stealing your mouth and pressing his erection against your hip.

 

 

 

 


	8. Announcements and Questions

“Dís wants to know if we can babysit the boys tomorrow?” Dwalin called, interrupting your daydreaming in the shower.

“Including Thorin, I imagine?” you laughed, hearing his answering chuckle as you stepped back under the spray to rinse your long hair.

“Well, you know Thorin would never say no to an invitation,” Dwalin added when you made your way through the kitchen, clad in a towel that did little to hide your body from his imagination. You opened the fridge, looking at the Chinese leftovers you’d meant to have for dinner.

“We’ll have to go shopping,” you pointed out, unsurprised when that elicited a groan from Dwalin, who felt it was his obligation to protest on principle, even if _he_ was usually the one most excited about buying new things and experimenting in the kitchen.

“Fiiine,” he sighed. You remained bent over, even if there really was little in the fridge to hold your interest, but giving Dwalin ample time to appreciate the way your towel-clad arse looked. “You’re a tease, my Anna,” Dwalin rumbled behind you, pulling you back against him by the hips. Straightening, you turned your head up to smile at him, licking your lips lightly.

“Going to punish me for it?” you asked, giving him a wink and moving his hand beneath the towel to run up your inner thigh. Dwalin gasped lightly, pressing more firmly against your bum.

“Yes.” Dwalin rumbled in your ear, cupping your mound in his big hand. “I want to be here,” he whispered, pressing his lips against your temple. “Is that what you want, my Anna?” he murmured, rubbing slowly along your lips and making you instinctively widen your stance to give him better access. “Is this what you thought about in the shower?” he wondered, wrapping his lips around your earlobe and tugging gently, licking across the skin behind your ear to make you gasp. Dwalin pulled back slightly, the hand on your hip bringing you with him until you were perched on his lap, your legs spread on either side of his thighs and your head lying against his shoulder, your wet hair soaking his shirt. “About how I’d spread you open,” Dwalin whispered, running a thick finger through your folds. He spread his legs lightly, forcing yours further apart. You lost your grip on the towel, your hands running up to play with your breasts. Dwalin chuckled, his moist breath playing havoc with your senses as he kissed down the side of your neck.

“Kiss me,” you begged.

“No, I don’t think so, my wee tease,” he muttered, sucking your skin into a hickey. You groaned. “I think you did wonder about that in the shower,” Dwalin continued, running his fingertip in light circles, just enough to nudge your desire higher, but not enough to set you off. You needed more.

“You’re the tease, love,” you whispered hoarsely, pressing your arse back against his groin, but lacking the proper leverage to do much because your feet weren’t touching the floor.

“No, my Anna, being a tease would be telling you how much I want you. How wet, and warm, and willing you are, right here in my arms.” Dwalin said, his voice low and gravelly with lust. Your hands trailed up your body, cupping your breasts through the towel. “Yes, Amrâlimê,” Dwalin whispered huskily as he nibbled on your soft skin, sending sparks through your body with his skilled touch, “show me your breasts, Anna.” You wiggled, one hand reaching behind you to release him from his jeans as the other undid your towel. Dwalin groaned, pressing against your arse as one hand splayed across your waist, pressing you back against him. You returned to playing with your breasts, pulling lightly at your nipples. “Did you know they’re redder now, elskling?” Dwalin whispers in your ear, his hand running up from your belly to cup your breast in his warm palm. You hiss. “Larger, too, I think,” he murmured, squeezing. Dwalin might not be completely wrong about the size thing, but you were more in love with the increase in sensitivity, moaning as you turned your head to kiss him, feeling desperate and needy in his arms. It took so little to get you hot and wet these days, and you knew Dwalin loved it. “I want to splay you wide open, and see how many times I can make you soak my beard.” He husked, nipping your ear as he thrust one finger inside you, his cock hard and hot against your arse. You moaned, wanting to rock against him, but unable to move much in your position. Dwalin smirked, licking his way into your mouth as he sped up his thrusts, keeping one hand busy plucking at your nipples while the other was seeking out your g-spot with military precision.

“So… close… Dwalin!” you cried, panting into his mouth. You felt him twitch against your arse, idly wondering why he didn’t lift you, spearing into you as he obviously wanted.

“Then I want to feel you,” he moaned, “hot and tight, as I pry you open with my cock, listen to the way you moan when I do it slowly, wondering how loud you’ll be when you cum on my cock.”

Your scream probably hurt his ears when you came, but you didn’t have the mental capacity to spare thinking about it when he pulled his fingers from you, lifting you and dropping you onto his cock in a single fluid move that only prolonged your orgasm, milking his steel-hard shaft with your pleasure. With a husky chuckle, Dwalin returned his hands to your hips, lifting you up so he could drop you back down, thrusting into you and prolonging your orgasm.

“Dwa.. Dwa,” you moaned breathlessly, your hands returning to your breasts as you twisted your neck to kiss him, open-mouthed and needy, panting with every thrust.

“Fuck!” Dwalin shouted, making you clench around him. “Anna,” he hissed, his fingers returning to the art of playing your clit like an instrument of pure pleasure. “Cum for me, elskling,” he begged hoarsely. You nodded, knowing how close he was, twisting your achingly hard nipples as Dwalin continued to thrust. You flew apart, yelling your pleasure to the ceiling. Dwalin roared, and suddenly you found yourself facing the wall, Dwalin’s thick arm between you and the wooden panelling as he pounded away, an animalistic growl in your ear making you melt. Dwalin’s strength kept you standing, your own legs feeling unsteady after two rapid-fire orgasms in a row. Dwalin mouthed your neck, homing in on a spot that made you whimper and cry out, thrusting your butt back against him.

“Dwal…” you moaned incoherently, desperate to fall off the edge one more time. “More.” You begged. “More, husband, I need, I nee-” Dwalin roared, sinking his teeth into your skin as his hips stuttered. The feel of him cumming inside you – still new and more than exciting – tipped your scales, making you tighten rhythmically around him as he kept going, panting into your neck as his tongue soothed the bite.

 

“Told you you’d be loud,” he whispered, smugly, his hands and lips gentle against your heated flesh as he brought you down with him, kneeling on the kitchen floor, still thrusting lightly into you, making you shiver and moan as aftershocks zinged through your body. “Loud and hot and wet,” he murmured, kissing your neck. One hand left your breast, cupping your small belly instead. Dwalin chuckled. “If you weren’t already pregnant, you certainly would be with all this horniness, amrâlimê,” he murmured. You chuckled, leaning back against his chest as he softened inside you, your hand moving to cover his as you came down slowly.

“I trust you’re not complaining, my love,” you teased, turning your head to kiss him. He was right; you had become even more voracious in your sexual appetites since that day in the garage, and Dwalin was usually willing to indulge the need he sparked in your flesh. He laughed, a low husky rumble that spoke of complete satisfaction.

“No, Anna, I’ve no complaints about you wanting my touch,” he mumbled huskily, sliding from you and pulling you to your feet. You pouted at the sudden feeling of emptiness. Dwalin laughed, smacking your butt and picked up your discarded towel. “I think we could both use a shower, though, Anna,” he smiled wickedly. “Care to join me?” he winked, sauntering off with your towel. With a laugh, you followed, cupping a hand between your legs to avoid splattering the floor with your excess.

 

“Put on something pretty,” Dwalin asked, as you combed out your hair, studying yourself in the mirror. Running a hand over the slight swell of your body, you smiled at him in the mirror.

“We going somewhere?” you asked.

“Erebor. The Company wants to celebrate our good news,” he smiled, kissing your temple. You chuckled.

“Is that the excuse…again?” you teased. “Think we’ve had four parties by now to ‘celebrate’,” you laughed, walking to your wardrobe.

“We’re an excitable bunch, Anna,” Dwalin whispered, runnings his hands over your sides before turning to his own clothes. “I think we had about six ‘Dwalin is going to ask Anna to move here and marry him’-parties…”

“I do remember the seven ‘engagement’-parties,” you giggled; Bofur had made up a song about the two of you, which had also been performed at the wedding. “But at least we only had the one wedding.”

“Wedding’s a ceremony, not a party,” Dwalin pointed out, “but I’d marry you as often as you’d have me,” he added with a cheeky smile and a wink as he pulled his shirt over his head. You shook your head lightly, pulling him down for a lingering kiss.

“I’d marry you again, too,” you whispered, hugging him tightly. Dwalin smiled, kissing your forehead.

“Good. Now let’s get going, you made me work up quite an appetite!” he called, slapping your rump and sauntering out of your bedroom with the air of a well-satisfied man. You chuckled, tying the sash of the wrap-around dress Dís had gifted you, admiring the small bump of your growing belly.

 

* * *

 

 

Taking a seat on the sofa beside Dwalin, you weren’t surprised when he pulled you into his arms, letting you rest against his broad frame. He had always done so, loved to touch you, and being pregnant had only increased his tactile behaviour. One of his hands found the small bump that was your children, cupping it lightly. Ever since you’d started to show – ever since you’d told him, really – Dwalin took every opportunity to get his hands on your belly. You sipped your juice, toasting with Kíli, who – at nearly four years old – still thought clinking glasses with adults was the best entertainment available. Tonight, however, he stared at your belly, framed by Dwalin’s hands, with a quizzical frown.

“Amad says there’s babies in there, Auntie,” he informed you seriously, reaching out to pat your belly. "Uncle Dwalin gave you a baby in your belly." Dwalin’s surprised laugh rumbled through his chest.

“Aye, wee Kíli,” he murmured, stroking your bump proudly, “there’s babies in there.”

“They’re small now, Kíli,” you explained, taking his hands, “only about this big.” Kíli stared at your belly, then at Dwalin, then at the size you had indicated.

“How did Uncle Dwalin give you that small babies?” he wondered. Bofur burst out laughing. “He’s big. Like the Mountain.”

“Your Uncle Dwalin is very big,” you agreed, glaring at Bofur who was nudging Nori with a lewd wink, “but all babies start out small,” you explained, “and grow bigger.”

“Just like Kee!” Fíli exclaimed, rubbing his little brother’s hair. Kíli scowled.

“Yes,” Dís interjected, “and when they’re born, your new cousins will be small just like Kíli was. And then they’ll grow bigger, and you can teach them how to play.”

“When the baby is small you have to be careful, Kee,” Fíli added, sounding very grown-up for an 8-year-old. You smiled softly, remembering imparting that same wisdom to Fíli when he had been staring at the new-born Killian. “But if you’re quiet and nice, you may be allowed to hold it.” He seemed to harbour some doubts about Kíli’s ability to follow that edict, making you smile lightly. The rambunctious four-year-old would simply have to learn; like all older children learned when a new baby arrived.

“I’m sure Kíli will be a great cousin, Fíli,” you offered, making Kíli beam at you for the praise, “and you can show him just how to hold the baby, just like we showed you, remember?” Fíli nodded importantly, his resemblance to Thorin undeniable in the moment. Dwalin chuckled.

“Aye, well, he’ll get plenty o’ practice,” Glóin butted into the conversation, smiling like a great loon, “once my wee lad arrives too.” He said, staring at his wife with a truly disgustingly besotted look that you recognized from Dwalin’s face when he looked at you.

“Congratulations,” you smiled, making Varna blush and nod; confirming her own pregnant status to great cheers from the assembled members of the Company.

“Well, I say this calls for another party!” Bofur called, wrapping an arm around Nori and dancing a drunken jig. You laughed, sinking back against Dwalin’s firm chest as you enjoyed the sounds of your family’s joy.

 

* * *

 

 

“Is the baby going ter like me, Uncle Dwalin?” Kíli whispered, while you pretended not to hear, manning the stove with Fíli’s help. You were making meat-sauce and spaghetti, and Fíli took the responsibility of adding dried herbs very seriously, which was probably why his brother had dared ask the question.

“I think so, Kíli-lad,” Dwalin rumbled, as he and Kíli set the table. “After all, I like you, and Anna likes you. I see no reason the babies won’t like you.” You turned around to give him a quick smile, catching Kíli nodding seriously at Dwalin, as though it was a formal agreement.

“Good,” he said solemnly. “Will they like me more than Fee?” Dwalin’s laughter rang through your small kitchen.

“Well, there’s two babies Kíli.” You interrupted, heading off the brotherly rivalry before it started as Fíli caught the last question. “Maybe one of them will be your favourite, and the other can like Fíli more?” Kíli looked thoughtful, while you put Fíli back to work peeling carrots. With a mischievous look, Kíli darted over to you, hugging you tight.

“Don’t worry babies,” he whispered into your belly, “You’re going to like me more. I’m fun!” In his chair, Dwalin was wheezing with laughter, not even trying to get between the two boys when Fíli exclaimed a loud ‘Hey!’ and began chasing Kíli through the house, a tickle-fight quickly ensuing to the accompaniment of loud shrieks. Dwalin rose from his seat, wiping away the tears of mirth. Bending to kiss you deeply, he stroked your bump gently. Falling to one knee, he winked up at you, pressing his face against the bump.

“Don’t worry my wee lovelies, I know you’ll like me best,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the bump through your apron.

“You’re going to spoil our children, aren’t you, Dwalin?” you murmured, stroking his head gently. Dwalin nodded into your tummy with a light laugh, getting to his feet and stealing another kiss before he went to find the two rascals, joining the tickle-fight with great glee.

Shaking your head, a small smile playing around your mouth, you stroked the bump lightly, turning back to your large pot. _Don’t worry, little ones,_ you thought, _you’ll like me best, I know._


	9. Songs and Lullabies

# Singing

You heard him before you even opened the door, his deep baritone voice floating out through the opened bathroom window – you wouldn’t have heard it except for the window facing in your direction, walking down the sidewalk.

 _I'm in the room, it's a typical Tuesday night._  
I'm listening to the kind of music she doesn't like.  
And she'll never know your story like I do

Stopping dead, you did your best not to burst out laughing; Dwalin had a fine singing voice, but his shower repertoire was highly incongruent with the man who could bench-press you with apparent ease – he had tried, at Bofur’s drunken behest, after which Thorin had demanded a try too – even in your current state. The tune continued.

 _But she wears short skirts_  
I wear t-shirts  
She's cheer captain  
And I'm on the bleachers

Fitting your key in the lock, you attempted not to imagine Dwalin in a cheerleading uniform – the song might be about a girl who _wasn’t_ all about the short skirts, but your imagination wouldn’t leave you be – walking through the house, kicking off your flats as you went, silent on stockinged feet. Opening the door to your bedroom, you were just in time for the finishing verses.

 _I know your favourite songs_  
And you tell me about your dreams  
Think I know where you belong  
Think I know it's with me

You managed not to reach for your phone – you knew several people who would give their left arm for this kind of blackmail material – standing silently in the doorway to the bathroom, staring at Dwalin’s nude form behind the frosted glass.

_Can't you see that I'm the one  
Who understands you?_

Making a quick decision, you tied up your hair in a messy bun, shedding your maternity – you were five months along and the twins were growing well – dress and pulling off your knee-high stockings.

 _Been here all along_  
So, why can't you see  
You belong with me?

You could see him through the glass, a nebulous shape, apparently conditioning his beard though he kept singing softly, every other word no more than a hum.

 _Standing by and waiting at your backdoor._  
All this time how could you not know, baby?  
You belong with me  
You belong with me  
You belong with me  
Have you ever thought just maybe  
You belong with me?  
You belong with me

“Of course, I do, love,” you murmured, sliding open the door and stepping into the roomy shower. Dwalin stumbled, a surprised sound – it wasn’t a squeak, he’d tell you, but secretly it was – escaping him as he blinked dumbly at you.

“You’re home!” he exclaimed, staring. Stepping into him, you looked up, moving to stand halfway beneath the spray.

“Yes,” you smiled at him, reaching for the soap. Dwalin’s eyes flashed down. Your breasts had certainly increased in size, and you could feel a stirring of his interest against your hip as he wrapped his arms around you, claiming your mouth in a kiss.

“I didn’t expect you home till later,” he murmured, stealing the soap and setting himself to the task of ensuring that your breasts – particularly the bright red nipples that had become more and more sensitive as the pregnancy progressed – were scrupulously clean. You moaned lightly when he pinched one nipple.

“Dwalinnnn,” you protested, wanting sleepy snuggles more than sex, even if your body would change its mind soon provided he continue what he was doing. Dwalin kissed you again, his hands sliding down to rub over the bump a few times, before moving back, kneading the muscles at the small of your back in a way that made you groan louder than before. “Yes, love,” you purred, cupping his furry jaw, and stealing a kiss. Dwalin smirked into your mouth.

“Sore, amrâlimê?” he murmured, but he continued the work of his blessedly strong hands, turning your nearly boneless with pleasure as you leaned against his hairy chest.

“It’s surprisingly tiring to go maternity shopping with a woman who never had children and one who won’t have any more,” you admitted sleepily, quite content to lean against him as his hands worked magic on your muscles. You didn’t even mind the occasional pinch to your backside that any backrub from Dwalin inevitably included, humming tunelessly as you enjoyed the comforting warmth of him. Dwalin chuckled.

“Hungry?” he asked, turning off the water. You grumbled lightly, but didn’t protest when he lifted you out, setting you down on the bathmat and wrapping one of the extra-large fluffy towels around you. They had been a splurge, at the time, but you had justified the purchase with Dwalin’s bulk; normal towels barely managed to wrap around his hips, after all. “Hungry, Anna?” he repeated, drying you off; you felt lost in zen already, close to the drop-off of sleep.

“No…” you murmured, rousing enough to stumble towards the bed and slide under the covers – your days of falling into bed were certainly over, you thought wryly, caressing the bump gently – giving him a sleepy smile as you felt the babies move gently. “We ate at the mall,” you added. Dwalin nodded, ducking out to make his nightly check of the doors to the house before returning to the bedroom, towelling his hair dry. Bending down to kiss you again, he slid himself into bed with you. The hardened evidence of his earlier arousal was still pressing lightly against you when he gathered you up against his chest, but he shook his head when you made a sleepy murmur of a question that was never fully voiced.

“Nay, my Anna,” he whispered, stroking your hair and continuing down your naked body until his warm hand could cup the bump, “just let me hold you.” Kissing your temple, he stroked slowly over your distended skin, feeling for one head and then the other – still small, but the twins were distinctive bumps inside you now, even from the outside – his warmth bringing a series of movement from the two occupants of your belly. “All my girls, right here in my arms,” Dwalin whispered softly. You smiled.

“You gonna sing teen-pop for them to get them to sleep, too?” you mumbled. Dwalin laughed, a low throaty sound that always made you melt against him.

“Nay, they’re going to grow up right,” he promised, “we’ll start ‘em on ‘twinkle twinkle’ and then I’ll teach them an ancient Khuzdul lullaby. After that, they’ll be ready for the big guns; some light Metallica, maybe. We’ll see,” he teased, chuckling when you swatted his hand lightly.

“You’re terrible, love,” you chided, but you couldn’t help but smile.

 “You love me anyway,” he stated, “and our girls will too.” Humming a gentle lullaby in your ear, Dwalin continued caressing the bump until you drifted off to sleep.

 

 


	10. Snowballs and Cocoa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a christmas ficlet, woo ^^

“Your hands are like ice!” Dwalin said, his eyes narrowing as he grabbed your hands, pulling off the snow-soaked mittens and rubbing your fingers between his large palms.

“I’m perfectly fine, love,” you promised, wresting back one hand and cupping his face tenderly, pulling him close for a kiss. “It’s just a little snow.” Dwalin scowled, but he kissed you back carefully. Chuckling, you kissed his nose, which was at least as chilled as your fingers. “Put some cocoa on, though, will you? Dís will be herding Kíli and Fíli inside soon enough, and _they_ are bound to be cold. I’m pretty sure Thorin dumped several trees worth of snow on their heads.”

Dwalin chuckled, giving you one more kiss and patted the bump beneath your dress gently before he turned towards the stove. With a light groan, you bent to remove your socks, aware that such an act would soon be impossible without assistance, but too proud to ask for help… yet. Unwinding the red and white striped scarf Dís had knitted for you a few years back, you put it and the mittens on the rack next to the fireplace to dry out, padding back into the kitchen looking for the fluffy slippers Dwalin had given you for Christmas last year. Stuffing your feet into the warm softness, you pressed a kiss to Dwalin’s bearded cheek and stretched on tiptoes to reach the festive mugs Fíli had made for you in art-class once. They were a little wonky, and the clay was quite thick, but they were made with love, and you rather loved them.

“Auntie Anna!” Kíli shrieked from the doorway, making you turn around just in time to see Fíli holding a finger in the universal gesture of silence and move away from Dwalin.

_Splat!_

The sound of loud growling and shrieks of young laughter mixed with your own chortles as Dwalin whirled, the spoon in his hand dripping cocoa across the stove.

“You wee blighters!” he growled, dropping the spoon back in the pot with a glare. You laughed. Dwalin wiped snow from the back of his head, though it had already made its way beneath his shirt and gave chase.

Chuckling to yourself, you picked up the spoon and moved back to the stove, stirring the large pot as you listened to the wild cries and howls of laughter that inevitably resulted whenever your burly husband decided to teach the nephews a lesson in snowballs and the accuracy of an old soldier.

“Oh, you’re a star!” Dís called, her boots and outwear making similar sounds to yours upon removal. Her hands appeared in your field of view as she snatched up the assorted collection of mugs you had placed beside you and began carrying them to the table.

“Smells nice, doesn’t it?” you grinned, turning to catch her blowing you a kiss.

“Aye, does,” Thorin rumbled, closing the front door behind him. A couple of thuds sounded. Thorin laughed, opening the door once more. “Missed me, you wee cretins!” he called, only to splutter in the next moment.

Dís’ laughter joined yours, echoing through the kitchen as you both stared at Thorin’s snow-covered face when he returned.

“Dwalin?” you asked cheekily. Thorin scowled.

“Wash up and help me make whipped cream,” Dís commanded, foregoing commenting on Thorin’s obvious naivety when it came to snow-wars.

“Yes, Dís,” he sighed.

“I baked, earlier,” you revealed, restoring the smile on his face, “fresh spice-buns and cocoa coming up!”

“I swear, you are a Christmas angel,” Thorin groaned, taking over Dís’ mixing bowl.

“Dori’s recipe,” you admitted, stirring the cocoa. Thorin grinned warmly.

“Boys!” Dís called, a blast of chilly air coming from the open door and making you shiver in the warm kitchen. “Time for cocoa!”

 

Dwalin’s nose was even colder when he pressed it against the side of your neck, but the arms he wrapped around you were warm, and his kisses warmer. The wide grins everyone sported as their hands were slowly warmed by ceramic and cocoa, their bellies filling with spiced-buns and Christmas cheer, made you smile, leaning into his embrace. Sipping your cocoa slowly, you felt your children move beneath your clasped hands, felt Dwalin’s beard tickle your neck.

“Merry Christmas,” you murmured, turning your head to kiss him properly, feeling his happy hum in return as he held you a little closer.

“Merry Christmas, Amrâlimê.”


End file.
